


Rhubarb

by AnnEllspethRaven, Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Knitting, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Multi, Physical Abuse, Sexuality, We despise tags just read this if you like Bunniverse okay?, conversion therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 04:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13240242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Erestor finds it in the garden. Fingon finds out it's not celery. Glorfindel finds out about syrup. And all of them find so much more than they bargained for.





	Rhubarb

**Author's Note:**

> Written October 5, 2017 to January 1, 2018.
> 
> For a comprehensive list of Bunniverse stories, please see: <https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1R7e1nky65lxhvfIabDX7n_TbknuhMH0m4eero6A-GC0/edit?usp=sharing>

The season of fading had begun perhaps two weeks prior, and the change was easy enough to feel in the air. Though the days still wore on warm and sunny, the chill crispness of the early morning air was not to be missed. Neither was the shortening length of each day as the approach of winter whispered its first sentiments to the lands all around, to any who loved growing things.

Erestor trudged inside the cottage in the very late afternoon; a glance outside revealed that the sun was below the horizon and the very last trace of daylight had almost gone--that time when the wise gardener ceases his labors, lest he manage to do something utterly stupid in the poor light. “I am going to wash,” he told Glorfindel wearily, placing a meaningful kiss on the crown of his golden head, “and then retire early. I feel very tired. I helped myself to enough apples, and I had some bread and cheese with me out there; do not worry about me for supper.”

“Can I do anything to help you?” the blond asked kindly, knowing how hard Erestor had been working in the garden to prepare it for winter. There were late fruits to harvest and preserve, vegetables that had given up on life to be removed and hauled to the compost and burn piles, weeds to be pulled, and beds to be mulched heavily against the possibility of sudden frost or snows--to name a few of the tasks that needed finishing. 

Wordlessly, the dark-haired ellon placed the basket of produce meant for their table on the preparation area where Fingon would see it later. His hand lingered on the basket handle, one finger tapping it thoughtfully, but Glorfindel assumed he was merely considering his answer. “I will heat the water I need and bring my sleeping clothes,” came the soft and barely audible answer, “but I would not say ‘No’ if you would offer to wash my back for me. Or anything else you might choose to wash.” He sighed. “I am really tired, Fin.”

“Then just ready yourself for your bath. Let me manage the water. Find your clothes; braid your hair so that we can keep it from becoming damp. The house has been much cooler at night as of late.”

Nodding mutely, Erestor moved stiffly and slowly to ascend the stairs, while Glorfindel rose and made preparations for a properly warm bath. So slow was Erestor to care for those two simple tasks, the wash tub was ready when he arrived.  Erestor stood before Glorfindel nude and almost looked to be posing for the artist, towel over his shoulder and sleeping pants in hand. Glorfindel considered a jest about Erestor’s brazen appearance at the door, but the expression on Erestor’s face kept Glorfindel from any witty remarks.  

“Here. Let me help you in.  Lots of bubbles, just how you like it,” said Glorfindel as he lifted the towel and draped it over the chair.  Erestor deposited the pants in a heap on the seat and nodded.  He took hold of Glorfindel’s hand and leaned against him for the few steps it took to reach the tub.  “Oh, sweetie,” he crooned when he heard Erestor grunt and saw the grimace on his face as he started to lift a leg over the edge.  “Here.  Let me help you,” he said as he put an arm around Erestor’s waist.

Erestor groaned as he set his foot back onto the floor.  “Be careful.  I am pretty grimy.”

“And you are pretty even when you are grimy,” answered Glorfindel.  Between Erestor slouching and Glorfindel lifting himself on the tips of his toes, he was able to return Erestor’s kiss from earlier, and could smell the scent of earth and green and things that grow and sunshine and creation.  Glorfindel smiled as he nuzzled Erestor’s hair, and chuckled when he found a leaf and a blade of grass bound up with the braids.  “Maybe we should wash your hair, too,” he suggested.

“Do with me what you wish,” mumbled Erestor as he wrapped his arms around Glorfindel’s shoulders.

“Even on the edge of oblivion, you still know exactly how to play me with your words,” answered Glorfindel back.  He brought his arm up from Erestor’s waist so that it rested behind his back before he slowly bent down.  “Keep your arms around my neck,” he directed as he guided Erestor lower with him and moved his other arm behind Erestor’s knees.  Erestor relaxed, and Glorfindel stood back up, holding his lover close to him.  “I still really enjoy doing this.”

“We should try it sometime when I am not in a useless state,” suggested Erestor.

“What about tomorrow morning?” Glorfindel nudged a stool out of his path with his foot.  Erestor only smiled.  Glorfindel kissed his nose.  “What about every morning?”

“I suppose, if you want to spoil me like that.  However… do I still get to carry you over the threshold after the wedding?” asked Erestor, who snuggled closer as Glorfindel carefully turned and edged closer to the tub.

“You better.”  Glorfindel peppered kisses along the side of Erestor’s face, and then lowered him gently into the bubbly bath.  As Erestor let out a sigh that evolved into a groan, he stretched his legs out and tilted his head back while keeping his arms over the sides of the tub.  

Glorfindel began to unpin and unwind Erestor’s hair while he hummed a soothing melody.  “What were you painting today?” asked Erestor as he reached over the tub and fished around in the basket for the soap.

“I found some old wooden shelves in the basement.  None of them matched, and we have more than enough storage.  I thought they might be interesting to refinish, so I sanded them a few weeks ago, but I realized after that they had been stained dark to cover imperfections.  So I painted two of them today.  One is an underwater scene with corals and schools of fish, and the other I painted brown with ivy leaves winding around it.  I plan to take them to the market next week when I go.  I should be able to paint the others by then.”  Glorfindel finished the last braid and leaned away to reach the cabinet.  He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a brush.  “What sort of adventures did you have outside while I was in here?” he asked as he detangled the dark strands from each other and from random outdoor debris.

“I almost adopted another cat.”

Glorfindel chuckled as he drew the brush carefully through Erestor’s hair.  “I doubt you would have heard Fingon complain.”

“It was the fluffy black one with the white paws that keeps talking to the indoor animals in the mornings.  I pulled back the branches of an overgrown bush and there he was, taking a nap.  He woke immediately, but instead of taking off as he usually does, he yawned and rolled onto his back.  I instinctively reached down and rubbed his belly.  I almost thought he was going to take a swipe at me, but he stretched his paw and tried to bat my hat off.  I went back to work, and he followed me around and talked to me most of the time.  I even shared my lunch with him.  As I was cleaning up, he suddenly disappeared.”

“If there is a dead mouse on the doorstep come morning, I will know why.”  Glorfindel set the brush aside.  “Hair is up to you.  I got all of the twigs and leaves out of it.”

“Maybe wash it in the morning, then?  Unless you think I should now,” said Erestor just before a yawn.

“Tomorrow sounds like a good idea.”  Glorfindel braided the entire length into one long plait before he wound it into a dark, shining crown on top of Erestor’s head and pinned it again.  “I think the case is strong for sleep over clean hair.”

By now, Erestor had sloppily managed to lather his arms and chest, and had given his knees, which peeked out of the water, a cursory scrubbing.  The soap was now relinquished to Glorfindel, who finished Erestor’s legs and moved to his feet before speaking again.  “You were barefoot out there,” he accused as he found dirt caked beneath toenails.

“I like to be as connected with the land as I am able to be,” said Erestor.  

Glorfindel leaned over to try to reach the basket, which Erestor shoved closer before he leaned back again with a sigh. Glorfindel plucked a scrub brush from it and scraped the soft bristles against the cake of soap a few times before he dropped the soap back into the basket and lifted one of Erestor’s feet from the water.  “Promise me if you do any naked farming you will let me know so that I can set up my easel outside that day.”

Erestor leaned back further so that his neck rested on the edge of the tub.  A faint smile appeared, and he said, “I only do that when it rains out.”

“In that case, watercolors, not oils.”  Glorfindel moved to the other foot, and once Erestor’s toes were clean, Glorfindel wrangled the washcloth from the bottom of the tub and used it to rub Erestor’s feet until he was satisfied everything would just need to be rinsed off.  His final stop was to move to the other side of the tub.  Glorfindel kissed Erestor’s forehead, which caused Erestor to open his eyes, and then Glorfindel bowed his head again.  As their lips met, opposite and a bit off-center, Erestor giggled and then turned his head away.  “Oh, I forgot you stopped shaving for the season.”

“Come on.  It is not that bad,” laughed Glorfindel as he stole another kiss, hoping to hear the rare sound of pure delight from Erestor again.  “Besides, I sell more art when I look like this.”

“Is that a fact?” asked Erestor as he lifted a hand to stroke Glorfindel’s cheek with the back of his hand.  

“Everyone thinks I must be deeply committed to my craft if I cannot make time for facial grooming.”  Glorfindel kissed Erestor on the nose before he retrieved the soap and coaxed Erestor to sit up.  “I had one client tell me it makes me look like a dreamer.”  

“Whenever I see you with the beard grown in, it makes me feel like we should own sheep.”

Glorfindel laughed as he soaped up Erestor’s back, shoulders, and neck, careful not to get suds in Erestor’s hair.  “Why, because I need a wooly sweater to go with my wooly chin?”

“Oh, I never thought of that.  I guess I just envision you sitting on a stool, playing your lute, lulling the sheep to sleep.  Now wearing a wool sweater,” added Erestor.  “With at least three, perhaps four wolfhounds scattered around.”

“Sheep could be fun.  Except sheep means lambs,” reminded Glorfindel.

“They do.”  Erestor said.  “Do you remember that day little Elladan came out into the pasture up on the far southern hill?”

“We were taking livestock inventory,” recalled Glorfindel.  “The last time it had been done was the second age, and no one knew how many of what were where, and the tax ledgers were estimated, and some of the shepherds and herders panicked and either let loose or slaughtered livestock.”

“And no one knew that Elladan had been naming all of the baby animals.  He got up there, and all of the lambs were gone,” said Erestor sadly.  “He was calling for them, and the shepherd said they had all run off, even though we both knew they had been taken by the house butcher that morning.  I tried to get back and stop it, but we had so much work to do that the deed was already done.  Then I told the cooks to make sure no one mentioned lamb, but they had to make it that night; it just would not keep.  So they made pies.  No one said a word.  But Elladan took one bite and he knew.”  Erestor sighed.  “I can close my eyes and see that look on his face and the way he pushed his plate away.”

“Elladan was devastated.  He spent the day looking for them until I told him he could ride back on Asfaloth with me,” Glorfindel said.  “I cannot recall why I missed supper that night, but I suppose it saved me from the shared misery.  I should never have let him search that long.  I thought it was kinder than telling him the truth, but it was terribly cruel.”

“We both did it,” Erestor reminded him.  “And we both tried to cover it up.  We learned.  I think he forgave us.”

“I just hope that maybe, maybe, it was so early in his life that he does not recall it.”  Glorfindel cupped his hand in the water and poured it over Erestor’s back to wash the suds away.  “You… you left early.  I mean, you should have been with Elladan and I out by the sheep, but--”

“I had to get to those farms that kept the… the weird birds and llamas,” Erestor mumbled.  “You said you could handle the rest of the sheep on your own.”

“Right, right.”

“Why the hell did we have llamas in Rivendell, anyhow?” Erestor leaned back in the tub again once Glorfindel finished his work.  “We never used them for anything and they were always trying to eat my hair or bite the children.”

“I have no idea.  They were there when I got there.  I thought you knew.  I just know that every time I had to go to that farm, one of those things would spit on me, no matter how far I stayed away from them.”  Glorfindel stood up and fetched one of two buckets of water on the floor beside the wall.  “For that matter, what were we doing with ostriches and emus?”

“Oh.  Those came from an Avarin tribe.  We sent them cows.  Following that incident, all parties agreed we were better off not giving each other gifts.  We were accused of giving them animals with large meat bags that leaked.  On our end, we thought we were supposed to keep the birds and use the eggs, and they were very upset to find more than what they left us, because I guess we were supposed to eat the birds, but you know Elrond.  He likes birds.  They were not going to get eaten, no matter how tasty the Avarin liaison told him they were.  There was a bit lost in translation, but it amounted to a cultural disaster.”  Erestor looked up.  “Would you like me to stand?”

“It would help if you want to be clean.”  Glorfindel set the bucket down beside the tub to help Erestor up.  “Are you alright there for a moment?”

“Just cold now,” said Erestor.  He kept his arms crossed over his chest until Glorfindel lifted up the bucket and slowly poured it over his back, chest, and shoulders.  Erestor seemed to flinch as the water washed off the suds and the dirt, the water in the tub now murky.  Glorfindel set the first bucket aside, and the second was used to wash off Erestor’s legs, then his feet as a bit of a balancing act occurred so that clean limbs were not placed back into the dingy water.  The second bucket was dropped into the tub and bobbed about on the surface while Glorfindel brought the towel over and wrapped it around Erestor’s shoulders.  “Thank you.”

“Anytime, darling.”  Glorfindel patted Erestor’s arms and worked his way down.  “You stay here a moment.  I am going to get your pants.”

“You can leave them,” advised Erestor.  “I just want to lie down.”

Glorfindel nodded.  “You looked ready to nod off when you came in.  Are you sure you are not hungry?”

“Even if I was, I am far too tired to eat,” said Erestor.  “Thank you for offering, though.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”  Glorfindel crouched down with the towel.  “If you change your mind, just let me know.  I would bring you supper in bed if you like.”

“That is very sweet, but I think I would prefer breakfast in bed,” hinted Erestor.

“It will be my pleasure,” Glorfindel assured him.  When Erestor was dry, Glorfindel picked him up once again, only this time he left the room and continued to the stairs.  “Careful,” warned Erestor as he clung to Glorfindel with what little strength he had left.

“Always.”  Glorfindel hummed again while he made his way to the second floor, his precious cargo held close.  Erestor had almost dozed off by the time they reached the bedroom.  Glorfindel settled Erestor onto the side Glorfindel normally utilized.  As Erestor opened his eyes and yawned, Glorfindel folded over the blankets on the other side.  Erestor eased himself over and rolled onto his stomach.  “Would you like a nice massage to relieve the rest of the tension from your day?” asked Glorfindel as he removed the pins from Erestor’s hair and coiled the braid on the pillow.

“I would take anything you offer,” came the answer, muffled from the pillow.

“Anything?” Glorfindel selected the almond oil from the drawer.  “Tempting, but perhaps anything more should be added to the list for tomorrow.”

“As you wish,” was whispered back.

Glorfindel poured a little oil into his palm, set the bottle aside, and rubbed his hands together.  He climbed onto the bed and straddled Erestor, Glorfindel’s  knees resting on either side of Erestor’s hips.  As he grasped Erestor’s shoulders and pressed his palm down into the tired muscles, Glorfindel asked, “What do you wish?”

Erestor turned his head to the side, and for a while the only sounds came in the form of moans, grunts, and groans - blissful encouragement for Glorfindel.  Only when Glorfindel finished his work on Erestor’s lower back and reached for additional oil did Erestor communicate with words.  “I would take a little fuck-and-tuck, if you have the time.”

“A what?”  Glorfindel stayed still, one hand on the bottle, his body slightly off-center from his reach.

“Something quick, and a cuddle after, before you tuck me in.”

Glorfindel straightened up, still in possession of the oil.  “And which role did you have in mind for yourself?” 

“I think… I think this current position would be fine,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel lowered himself so that he could nip at Erestor’s earlobe.  “As you wish,” he whispered, and he smiled as Erestor shivered slightly.  The lack of clothing made it easy for Glorfindel to begin preparation of Erestor, who was already relaxed from the bath.  Glorfindel’s own situation required a bit of contortion, but he managed to stroke all the right places while removing his own clothing.  “Maybe I should have used my tongue instead,” Glorfindel crooned as he took a moment to remove his fingers and press close to Erestor.  “That always drives you wild.  And with the beard...”

“Uhghh… just… come on…,” insisted Erestor.  He arched back a little and rocked slightly on his knees, which made Glorfindel groan.  

“Are you sure you are ready?” Glorfindel tried not to sound too concerned.  Many times in the past they had engaged in activities with far less preparation and favorable enough results for the most part.  Even so, those were times when Erestor was fully awake and aware.  Glorfindel rose up again and experimented with two fingers.  

Erestor grunted and lifted his hips to take the intrusion deeper.  “Stop teasing me,” he whined.

“Yes, sir.”  Glorfindel removed his fingers slowly, dribbled oil over his erection, slicked it, and elevated himself so that he could maneuver Erestor onto his knees, chest to the mattress, arms wrapped around the pillow he nuzzled, and ass magnificently presented.  Glorfindel rubbed one smooth globe with his palm and then moved to caress the other.   Glorfindel moved his hand back to the side he started on, and he licked his lips as he slid his other hand along Erestor’s spine toward his neck.

“Everything alright back there?” Erestor asked, voice muffled against the fluff of the pillow.

“I just become overwhelmed by your complete trust in me sometimes,” admitted Glorfindel softly.  “Especially now.  More now than ever before.”

“That is so sweet.”  Erestor craned his head to glimpse over his shoulder, though all he caught was sight of the ceiling and a tuft of wild blond hair.  “I adore the sincerity of your heartfelt philosophical thoughts.  Could you possibly hold those thoughts a moment--”

“And get my cock in your ass already?” guessed Glorfindel.

“I was going to say ‘fuck me senseless’, but I could go for a cock up my ass right now,” agreed Erestor.

Glorfindel gave Erestor’s rump a hearty pat.  “This is your lucky night.  I just happen to have a--”

“Please just stick it---uhhhnnn…”  Erestor lowered his head back down and pressed back.

“Better?” whispered Glorfindel as he massaged Erestor’s thighs.  

The only reply was a rocking of Erestor’s body, and a single command: “Move.”

Glorfindel laughed low and easily found a comfortable rhythm that suited both of them.  Once upon a time, in a different cottage in Valinor, he took these couplings for granted - something earned after centuries of pursuit and promises of forever.  Now, Glorfindel relished the pleasures he enjoyed with Erestor.  He was mindful of every thrust, and closed his eyes in order to focus on the complex simplicity of each moment and every shared breath.  With each roll of his hips, Glorfindel felt Erestor’s mirrored movements, the stretch of sinew as the gap between them closed and their flesh melded together, only to part ever so briefly so that motions could be repeated.  The sensual dance continued, and Glorfindel could feel the slow build, until it was evident that he had two courses before him - a series of quick and fervent movements, or something more meaningful.  Glorfindel rocked a few times more, and then he took a firm hold of Erestor’s hips and plunged in deep, head back, a hiss escaping from clenched teeth, and there he held himself.  It seemed Erestor was of the same mind, for Glorfindel heard his lover breathe in sharply and felt the muscles tighten and hold.  

It was a technique taught to them by Fingon, and it was, in some strange way, the link to him when he was not with them for these couplings.  On the edge of release, instead of rushing to finish it off, the pair took a moment to feel the immense energy they had concentrated, and the closeness between them, and the bliss to come.  Glorfindel drew his tongue back and forth between his lips, then moved one hand so very slowly around until he felt the firm warmth he knew waited for his touch.  

Glorfindel drew one finger along the length, and Erestor shook slightly when the pad of Glorfindel’s thumb brushed against the moist tip.  Still frozen except for his hand, Glorfindel took another deep breath and curled his fingers around the heat of Erestor’s erection.  He stroked once, and they both audibly breathed out.  Glorfindel held his breath now through the second and third, and upon the fourth stroke, felt Erestor’s body pulsing, heard the needful grunting, and opened his mouth to gasp for air as his release seemed to implode and draw within, only to reverse a moment later as he seemed to explode into Erestor, through him, for the energy to fill the whole room, and reflect back into them again, and end in a tumble of thoughts where love and need and lust all coincided.  

Glorfindel breathed in and out deeply several times before he eased back and separated from Erestor.  “How was that?”

“The sheets need changing,” answered Erestor.

With a little grin, followed by a kiss on the back of Erestor’s neck, Glorfindel climbed out of bed.  “You are quite welcome,” he replied as he used the already soiled sheet to clean his own body before he went to the chest to retrieve fresh linens.

* * *

No sooner had Glorfindel resumed his seat and read exactly two paragraphs in his book, than Fingon arrived home.  In case Erestor had need of the horses on the property, Fingon opted that morning to walk to work.  This meant that darkness had already comfortably settled around the cottage by the time he opened the door and began the process of unbundling himself.  There were several layers, and Glorfindel watched what he realized constituted as the world’s most awkward and unintentional elven striptease.

Fingon started with a little wave of acknowledgment to his companion, and Glorfindel smiled in return.  First came the mittens, bulky and knitted by Celebrían.  The second one snagged, so Fingon had to drop the first mitten to the ground while he fought to keep the yarn from pulling while he detached it from the sleeve.  The second mitten joined the first as he reached up to unwind a long scarf that matched the mittens.  It had been wrapped all around his neck and face so that only a pair of sparkling hazel eyes were seen in the depths of the winter-wear. 

With the first scarf gone, Fingon was able to remove his cloak.  He held the hood up and reached behind, and after the third try, managed to find a peg for it to hang, inside out.  Glorfindel closed his book and considered getting up to help, but instead he covered his mouth with his hand while watching Fingon attempt to remove a boot without first removing the jacket he had chosen that morning.  It was one that was very warm, double lined with fur, but it was also not the best for the sort of acrobatics Fingon was attempting, which meant the boot only came off when Fingon leaned against the wall and used the floor and a lot of twisting of his ankle and cursing to will it off.

He worked on the second boot while simultaneously fending off the jacket.  Fingon was far more reverent of the jacket, a gift from Turgon, and this was hung carefully beside the cloak before the next layer, consisting of wool stockings, wool sweater, wool hat, leather gloves, and another scarf came off.  Now it seemed as if he might be done, with the exception of yet another scarf, but he did not stop here.  Fingon’s waistcoat and breeches were removed and set aside, and his shirt was draped over a peg for later use.  Removal of the last scarf was almost an afterthought as he was now down to a hidden layer of long, tightly woven garments.  The sleeves covered past his wrists, the leggings ended in connected socks, and his neck was protected up to his chin.  This clothing was flexible, yet snug, and he had to almost roll the fabric back to remove it without tearing the stitches.  It was heaped onto the floor with other discarded items, and left him in a puddle of garments, scarf in hand as he searched for another peg, wearing only a silken, form-fitting item for modesty.  

Glorfindel licked his lips and turned his hungry eyes away while Fingon unceremoniously kicked the clothing together, picked it up, and carried it away.  The book was open again, but Glorfindel’s focus was on the recall of visual, and the words of the paragraph he read four times over meant nothing.  He closed the book and sighed as Fingon entered the room and made himself comfortable on Glorfindel’s knee without invitation.  “Good evening,” he offered with a purr and a kiss.

When Fingon joined Glorfindel, the blond settled his hand on Fingon’s bicep.  The shirt was back on, but Fingon opted for a plush, velvety green robe with blue trim that extended to the ground.  Glorfindel would have kept his hands above the waist, but Fingon lifted one leg up invitingly, and the fabric slipped down to reveal a lean, muscled calf, the tease of his knee, and a hint of thigh, which was where Glorfindel moved his hand before he leaned forward for another kiss.  “Welcome home,” murmured Glorfindel once he realized he had not returned the greeting.

“I have found my golden god… where, pray tell, is my dark prince?” Fingon traced his finger along Glorfindel’s cheek as he spoke.

“Abed, your majesty.  He took his leave early.”  Glorfindel smiled and closed his eyes as Fingon lifted his other hand.  Teasing fingers played with Glorfindel’s beard.   

“I see that my edict was followed and both of you stayed here for the duration.  Did you have a good day?” Fingon asked.

Glorfindel stretched his fingers to explore what was to be found beneath the robe.  He smiled when he felt no resistance as he reached the curve of a hip, and found that the shirt was all that Fingon wore under the robe.  “It was very quiet.  Speaking of quiet, Erestor is already asleep, so I am trying not to make too much noise.”

“Oh… so I have you all to myself?”  Fingon shifted so that he could sit down on Glorfindel’s lap for a full snuggle.  He leaned back, his back to Glorfindel’s chest, and hummed his pleasure when Glorfindel wrapped an arm tightly around him.  “I expected the two of you to have a nice day without me, but I did not anticipate you would wear him out before I arrived home.  It is good to see you still have some energy left for me.”

“And it is good to see you still have some left for me.”  Glorfindel wandered his other hand beneath the fabric again.  The robe was fastened in such a way that it kept covered anything scandalous, but only just barely.  One side shifted and draped down to the floor, entirely exposing Fingon’s leg, and neither made a move to remedy this.  “It had nothing to do with me.  I hardly saw him all day.”

It was hard to tell whether the groan from Fingon was due to the information imparted, or the squeeze given to his inner thigh.  “So much for giving him the day off to relax and be with you.  What happ-- wait, was he gardening?”

“Good guess.”

Fingon clicked his tongue and reached an arm behind to fondle Glorfindel’s facial hair.  “Hardly a challenging riddle with him.  Did you get to see him at all today?”  

“We had breakfast outside after you left, and the entire time, he kept getting distracted by the plants.  Every conversation I started turned to discussion of trellises, bulbs, and irrigation.  Finally I offered to clear the table and take things inside while he spent an hour or two out there, but it soon turned into the entire day.” 

Fingon groaned again, and this time it was certainly about Erestor.  “While I admire his persistence and work ethic, I really must have a talk with him on the importance of a day off.” 

“Do you, now?”  Glorfindel slowly twisted his position so that he could reach Fingon’s neck.  “And what… were you… doing all day?” he asked between kisses.

“Alright. Guilty.”  He turned his head to sneak a kiss on Glorfindel’s lips.  “I will remedy the situation and take tomorrow off, and insist Erestor do the same.”

Glorfindel nuzzled noses with Fingon.  “And then I get both of you all to myself.” 

“I had the same thought…”  Fingon got a good hold on the golden locks, and had to arch his back a little in order to kiss as deeply as he wanted.  No doubt his attire was seeming a bit more unseemly as it shifted again.

“Great minds and all that,” agreed Glorfindel after a few more kisses.

There was a curious look from Fingon now, and he turned to fully face Glorfindel and snuffled at his neck.  “...are you sure…”

“Of what?”

Fingon sat up on his haunches, hands on Glorfindel’s shoulders. “...he was just gardening?”

There was no possible way for Glorfindel to wipe the grin from his face.

The grin was returned, and Fingon asked, “So gardening is a euphemism now?”

“No, no… he really was gardening, and he really did wear himself out gardening.  He came in, I gave him a bath, and…”  Glorfindel adjusted his hands on Fingon’s waist.  “So, has he ever used the phrase ‘fuck and tuck’ before?”

Fingon burst out laughing.  “Not exactly, but I know where that comes from.”

“Do tell.”

Again Fingon resituated himself, sitting on Glorfindel’s lap with one arm around his companion’s back.  Glorfindel resumed caressing revealed skin while Fingon told the tale.  “He was cataloging some Second Age Adûnaic fiction a few weeks back and over lunch he was telling us how lewd some of it was, so after we closed, he gave a couple of dramatic readings from the more colorful selections to the interns while I finished some administrative tasks.  There was some creative analysis of that phrase in particular.”

“Ah, mystery solved,” remarked Glorfindel.

“Yet so many remain.  Living with Erestor is like trying to put together a puzzle without any of the edge pieces.”

“That is probably the most perfect explanation I have ever heard.”  There was a long pause while Glorfindel continued to feel his way up and down Fingon’s legs.  When no response came, Glorfindel stopped his movements until Fingon made eye contact with him.  “I can tell you are deep in thought now.”

Fingon kissed Glorfindel’s nose.  “I was just… considering.  ‘Fuck and tuck’ is not my cup of tea, but then, what could I request of you this night?  Many possibilities; none of them much better.”

Glorfindel blinked.  “Sorry, but you lost me.”

“Ah, well, there could be ‘duck and tuck’ - a fowl end to the evening.  Or there could be ‘pluck and tuck’ - even worse for our feathered friend.”

“Oh, and ‘cluck and tuck’, if ducks just are not your thing,” added Glorfindel as he caught on.

“There is always ‘shuck and tuck’, but that seems awfully corny.  Goodness, there are a lot of farm jokes around here,” realized Fingon.

Glorfindel began to run his hand along Fingon’s leg again.  “What about ‘suck and tuck’?” 

Fingon furrowed his brow.  “What about it?  Like, sucking on a lemon?”

Glorfindel grinned and winked, and moved his hand as far up Fingon’s leg as he dared.

“OH!  Oh, I was still thinking of food and eating when you said that.”  Fingon shifted away slightly, and Glorfindel moved his hand back to more familiar territory.  A moment later, Fingon relaxed again.

A subject change seemed ideal, and Glorfindel cleared his throat as he rubbed his palm on Fingon’s knee.  “Speaking of food, Erestor left the basket in the usual spot, but since he is already abed, we could go fishing.”

“We could, but I had a long day.  And it is cold.  Unless you want to,” offered Fingon.

Glorfindel shrugged.  “By the time we find bait and set up, we could already be eating our meal.”

“I really should get started on dinner,” Fingon announced, feeling suddenly energized. The thought of cooking seemed more appealing than usual tonight, which is why he felt a little disappointed that Erestor would miss out on whatever he would decide to prepare. But, tired was tired, and needed little explanation. Assessing the contents of the basket that Erestor had left, he withdrew two truly impressive globe eggplants, a basket of cherry tomatoes, numerous medium-sized apples, a handsomely colored sweet pepper, and some assorted herbs. And celery, though the pink tinges on the stalks seemed a little odd. Well, that was to be expected; Erestor often managed to locate strange varieties of vegetables unknown to most. After what he was sure were miniature orange pumpkins turned out to be eggplants, he had given up assuming he knew what color anything was supposed to be. A little hungry, he bit into one of the celery stalks. “Spawn of orcs, what in Eru’s name _ IS THIS _ ?” Fingon spat, only remembering at the last of it that Erestor was sleeping and that he needed to not shout. “This is wretched! Lemons taste less sour!”

Intrigued, Glorfindel stood up, if only to pour a small glass of apple cider for Fingon to help clear the taste from his mouth. When he saw the object of disdain, his eyebrows rose. “Rhubarb. That is rhubarb,” Glorfindel explained, sounding quite fascinated.

“Rhoo what?” Fingon frowned. 

“You have never seen or heard of it?” Glorfindel asked, very surprised. “It is cooked, sometimes with other fruit, into pies or tarts. It requires a generous amount of sweetener for obvious reasons, but it can be quite delicious once made into something of that nature.”

“It would be quite delicious tossed into the compost pile,” Fingon retorted acidly, gathering up the stalks as though he intended to do exactly that (and without delay).

“No!” Glorfindel said, staying his hand with a much harder grip than he would usually apply. “You mustn’t. You do not understand what he did, giving that to you to cook for him. You would break his heart. He would cook it himself, but… we all know how that would turn out, him included.”

Fingon relaxed his arm and released the stalks, perceiving that Glorfindel would not behave so insistently without real cause. “Alright. Clearly there is a story here, and clearly I would like to know it. Just… give me a moment, please. Let me get these eggplants sliced and salted, and then I will begin making pastry crust. Perhaps you would pour us some wine, and enlighten me.”

Grinning, the blond turned to select a suitable bottle and procure clean glasses for such things. Remembering that the fire also needed attention, he paused to add a few more logs. There was no point having the room cool down at this early juncture.

“So, the crux of the matter is, those stalks represent a lifetime of effort to try to do something that has always eluded him. They mean more to him than just being rhubarb. It is almost as if…” he sighed, knowing this sounded ridiculous. “Maybe it would be better if I started at the very beginning.”

“I think so,” Fingon agreed, trying to keep a neutral face. Now that the horrid tartness was gone from his mouth, he was in a much better humor.

“Erestor first found out about rhubarb in Gondolin. I do not know if he told you that many of his early years there were spent in agricultural pursuits. Some went well; others… he had to work hard and was not always met with fairness. And I am ashamed to admit that in my ignorance, I was the cause of some of that. But anyway. When he heard of it, and learned that it was known to compliment strawberries in pies, he wanted to grow it. I have a great love of strawberries, and cannot help but think that could have been part of his reasoning.  As you know, we were an isolated city, and yet we still had our ways of communicating with the outside world. I do not know what machinations he utilized to order a root section to be sent to him in the city, but he managed it. Maybe it even arrived with one of Gildor’s visits; I honestly cannot recall if I ever knew that part for certain. But to make a long tale much briefer, the poor little specimen that had been sent was too small, improperly packaged, and too long in transport. For all I know Erestor even prayed to Námo to spare the life of the little rhubarb, but the plant failed to grow from what he received. Only when it was obviously rotting in its container would he admit that it was a loss, and he was very upset. I do not know why it was so important to him, except that it was something he wanted badly and it did not work out. At all. So many things did not work out for Erestor, in those years.”

Fingon listened to all this while the salted eggplant slices were set on racks for their moisture to be drawn out, and he began to season some olive oil with the herbs and cut the pepper into somewhat thin slices. “Go on,” he said thoughtfully.

“Then some years went by, and… again, I do not know how it came about, a second plant was sent to him. This one appeared to have none of the defects of the first, and he potted it right away. It grew very well, and he transplanted it two or three times until he felt it was ready to go into the ground. I had to listen for a solid week as he thought aloud about where it would be best to plant it. Finally, he settled on an area of his land that was not terribly far from one of Galdor’s neighboring parcels, thinking that would be best. It absolutely thrived. Each one of the leaves was the size of three dinner plates; never have I seen a more magnificent specimen. And then one day he came to get me, in a panic. Something was wrong with the plant, and he wished me to come look. So I did.”

“And?” Fingon asked, curious now in spite of himself.

“Well, the best way I can say it is, it looked a great deal as though a horse or cart-pony had gotten loose and chosen that exact spot to roll on the ground. It was simply...flattened. Not dead, not fatally damaged per se, but...whomped on, as though someone had decided to bed down on it and have an extended nap.”

“Huh…” Fingon now dipped the eggplants into a milk-and-flour batter, and pressed each side into some seasoned bread crumbs, while heating the herb-infused oil. “Then what happened?”

“The flattening went on for maybe two or three days, and every day poor Erestor found the rhubarb more beaten down he was more miserable than the last. To be fair, no one could understand what could possibly be the matter. No one ever went to this spot on his acreage, and no one knew of any loose animals. It was just… a mystery. Until about one more week later.”

“This does not sound like it will have a happy ending,” commented Fingon.

“Ever-wise you are, Káno,” Glorfindel smiled. “A week after was when Erestor came and found the plant hacked to pieces. All of it. As if someone with a machete or…. something, maybe even a sword… had simply decided to ruin it beyond all salvation. He was devastated, and started asking absolutely everyone if they knew what had happened. It was so bad that word eventually reached Galdor himself, who was Lord of the House of the Tree, if you recall.”

“I did not, so, thank you. That helps. Seriously, my brother and all of his houses - no offense, but he really made things far more complicated than they had to be.  So word reaches Galdor.  And Galdor knew something about this?”

“Worse. Galdor nonchalantly came to Erestor apologizing about the misunderstanding, for he had done it with his own hands, being convinced that the plant was a strange weed near his own land that he did not want to risk spreading.”

“You are joking,” Fingon said flatly.

“No. But as this was a Lord of Gondolin, there was next to nothing to be done except perhaps issue a suggestion in the politest of terms that should there be a next time, to please ask before assaulting vegetation not on his own land. And, what was Erestor to do, complain to Turgon? That would have gone at best badly, no matter who had done it.  Either way, the rhubarb was dead. Done, gone and… he was upset about it for a very long time, and in random moments would rant on about it in disbelief that anyone could be so stupid,” Glorfindel recalled.

“Well I could hardly blame him for that,” Fingon snorted. “It  _ was _ stupid. Grievously so. Not to mention presumptuous, and rude in the extreme. And you are right about Turgon,” he chuckled. “My brother is many things, and feeling inclined to sit and listen to complaints about mangled vegetables is not one of them. But enough of my opinions, I sense we are not nearly done yet.” The eggplants fried, and the most wonderful scents arose as each finished one came out of the pan and was laid on a towel to drain off the oil.

“He gave up for a long time. A really long time. I mean, years and years and years. Maybe even the better part of a century. More? Again, it is hard to recall. And then one day someone sent him seeds. Rhubarb seeds, I mean. Even though that was the time he was still so busy with his duty to Rog’s army and sham-wooing Aranel and all the other minutiae of life, he went and planted the seeds in little pots. I know he did this much, because he took me one day weeks later to show them to me. About twelve of them, and doing quite well. Once more, when they were ready, they went into the ground on his land, far from his borders with anyone at all. It really seemed as though this would be the time he succeeded. Then the bad summer came, the one where it was simply too hot, and the rain did not fall. He tried, both admonishing his workers to water those plants and occasionally doing so himself but...there was a crop loss that season. Things just up and died, or struggled mightily. And the plantings were abandoned, to try again and plow them under when rain decided to show itself once again. All the little rhubarbs died. Every one, and he had used all of his seeds in the attempt.”

“Damn,” Fingon said, still frying eggplant slices. “I do not suppose you would mind grating some cheese for me, would you? The salted and hard-cured one, just over there?” he asked as he indicated the proper oiled cloth that held such things.

“Sure,” Glorfindel smiled affably. “Actually, can I help you do any of the cooking after I complete your request?”

Fingon tilted his head. “If you fry the rest of the eggplants, I can finish assembling the pastry crust. This will be very simple; sugar, butter, tapioca, bake.  My mother’s recipe.  I have never had it fail me yet.”

“That sounds entirely reasonable.”

“Please, continue your story,” Fingon prompted.

“There really is not much more story to tell, except for one small thing. So many years later-- as in, when we were together in Imladris later--I asked him if he had ever tried again with the rhubarb and he told me No. Then I asked him, ‘why not?’ His answer to me, if I may paraphrase, was that rhubarb was emblematic of his entire life, and why should he waste his time trying when disappointment was inevitable?”

“Oh, double damn….” Fingon said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“This was the first year he tried again. He did not tell me he was doing this. Not a word was spoken about the attempt, and yet tonight he leaves you with what is assuredly the first successful harvest of it in all his long life.  I think, in some ways, it is quite symbolic that he left it for you and said nothing of it being there to me.  He absolutely adores you and trusts you completely.  Knowing how he thinks about things, his success in growing this might mirror how he feels about his relationship with you -- an unexpected struggle, but thoroughly rewarding.”

“That is…..” Fingon helplessly floundered for words. “That is just…fuck.”

“I know.” Glorfindel turned his eyes away from his eggplant slice just long enough to kiss Fingon tenderly. “Just do your best with it. That is all I or anyone else could ask of you. If you are willing I can show you how to prepare the stalks; they probably need the strings removed and they will need chopping.”

“Please,” Fingon replied. The set of his jaw told the golden-haired elf that he need not worry about his love failing to grasp the situation any longer. 

  
  


* * *

“Try this.”

Glorfindel looked to his left to see the end of a wooden spoon very close to his face.  He reached out and placed his hand over Fingon’s in order to reposition it better to lick the magenta colored puree on the end.  He licked his lips thoughtfully, but before he could answer, Fingon opined for him.  “Still too bitter.  I hate to add more sweetener, but I have little choice,” he said as he returned to the simmering pot of liquified rhubarb.  Fingon went right into experimenting with the rhubarb as soon as dinner was done cooking, which meant he was fed mouthfuls of eggplant by Glorfindel, unwilling to sit down and enjoy the meal properly.  

Now there were pots and pans littered around the kitchen, and several versions of rhubarb being prepared.  On the counter, an ample number of ingredients were measured for cupcakes, while the table played host to what was needed for other rhubarb-infused sweets.  The only item nearing completion was the strawberry rhubarb pie now in the process of being baked.  Glorfindel did all he could to be helpful, but eventually all that was left was the proper care of the puree, which Fingon insisted upon seeing to himself.

“What is your plan for that once you perfect it?” asked Glorfindel as Fingon continued to massage the flavor of the puree.

“I have ideas for three different kinds of candy.  I definitely want to make truffles, because there are few things as indulgent as a good truffle.  I also want to make rhubarb marshmallows, and some sort of hard candy that will keep awhile.”

“What about licorice?” asked Glorfindel.

Fingon swiftly mixed the puree as he tried to get the flavor and consistency he wanted.  “What about it?”

“Erestor’s favorite candy is licorice.”

“Shit. And… licorice. Do you know how to make licorice?” asked Fingon immediately.

“Do I know how to make Erestor’s favorite candy?  Do you know how many batches of licorice I have made in my life?”  Glorfindel stood up and began to gather a few more items from the cabinets, happy to be of help for more than taste testing.  “What about a syrup or a jam?  Something that we could use for breakfast - I promised him breakfast in bed.”

“Breakfast in bed… and you just thought to tell me this now?”  Fingon looked around with a sigh.  “Alright.  This can still work.”  He tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl and paused to taste his concoction again.  “This seems about right.”  He handed the spoon off to Glorfindel, who tasted and nodded.  “I can handle the truffles and marshmallows, you can make the licorice and syrup or whatever you want to do.  We can make rock candy another time.”

“What about the cupcakes?” asked Glorfindel as he waved a hand at the measured ingredients.

Fingon frowned as he looked at the work space while straining the puree into a bowl to bring to the table.  “Maybe we can make muffins.  Wait, no, pancakes.  We can just get things ready for pancakes, and finish those in the morning.  Then you have a reason to make syrup.”

“I just wanted to make syrup for--”

“I know what you want to do with it,” accused Fingon as he waved the spoon at his companion.  “I still expect you to do just that, but at least it will not be that obvious.”

“Unless we make it obvious without making it obvious.”

Fingon, now holding the bowl of puree protectively, gave Glorfindel a challenging look.  “What did you have in mind?”

Glorfindel grinned wickedly. “Well, every meal needs to be served on something…”

  * \-    -



“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”  

Erestor stretched his legs and blinked his eyes open.  “How late is it?” he asked as he noted how bright the light behind the curtains appeared.

“Who cares?  Your boss gave you the day off.  Also, my apologies, there are no eggs, nor is there bacon.”  Fingon was beside Erestor in the bed, but in the wrong place, for he was resting on his side where Glorfindel usually was to be found.  “I hope there is still something at the meal which… satisfies you.”

“But I took off yesterday,” protested Erestor as Fingon unbraided and played with Erestor’s hair.

“Continue with that attitude, and you will be off the rest of the week.”

“But…”  Erestor sighed and sat up.  “Alright.  So, what is for breakfast?  And… where is Glorfindel?”

“I think you might run into him if you head downstairs. In fact, I think he would rather appreciate it; he worked quite hard to help with your special meal this morning.”

Erestor let out a little yawn and stretched his arms.  “Downstairs?  I wanted to be lazy while I ate,” he gently protested.  “Then again, I would get crumbs in the bed, and we cannot have that, can we?”  Erestor pushed back the blankets and climbed out of bed on the side opposite the one Fingon occupied.

“No, we really cannot,” Fingon smirked, “but neither can I have you foregoing your laziness.” Tossing one of Erestor’s favorite dressing-gowns over his shoulder, he swept the dark beauty off his feet and into his arms. “How does this work?” he queried, leaning forward just enough to kiss the tip of his nose.

With more than mild surprise, Erestor reflexively grabbed around Fingon’s neck.  “Just fine,” he said, still waking up, still not entirely certain he was not still dreaming.  “The two of you are spoiling me,” accused Erestor.

“Mmmm. I want to see how rotten you can become, and how quickly.” Surefooted steps tracked down the stairs, carrying a priceless treasure. “Fin, are you quite done setting up the table? Our darkling here needs to eat; I am quite certain he is famished.”

In the kitchen, the table was set, but something was missing.  Glorfindel stood proudly beside a chair, wearing only a loosely tied robe and a cheeky grin.  Erestor neglected to offer a proper good morning, for he was trying to figure out what was wrong with the picture before him.  There were goblets of water, and juice in smaller glasses.  There were only serving spoons, though missing forks and knives were not that much of a bother at breakfast - not with the platter of delicate, bite-sized pancakes set along one edge between two place settings.  Perhaps that was the oddity - the food was on either side of the table, with the space down the middle left open.  But no, it was the plates, or lack thereof, that bothered Erestor.  Then something else was noticed, and that was when Erestor asked, “Why is there a stepstool here?”

“Well. I will tell you momentarily,” Fingon answered, smoothly settling Erestor’s rear onto the soft cushion covering his chair. “Right after you are properly and comfortably prepared. Perhaps you would like your robe on?” he queried.

From one lover to the other Erestor gazed for a moment.  It was all too conspiratorial.  “Do I want my robe on?” he questioned in reply.

“Only you know that, beautiful,” Fingon whispered, leaning down to graze Erestor’s ear lightly with his teeth.

The unexpected affection caused Erestor to shiver, and he nodded.  “Maybe I should put it on for now.”  He stood up and held out his hand, but as he waited for the garment to be passed to him, he looked over to Glorfindel and said, “You are much too quiet, which means you have been intensely plotting something.”

“I thought I was the boss,” Fingon interjected quickly, while deft fingers enrobed his lover in a smooth motion, even tying the sash closed for him. Glorfindel received a wink unseen by Erestor, and could not help but grin a little more.

Erestor grumbled, but sat back down again.  He drummed his fingers on the table and looked over the spread.  Besides the pancakes, which seemed to come with raspberry syrup from the looks of it, there was fresh fruit in a large bowl, and another bowl of fresh whipped cream.  A platter also held chunks of cheese, and some chocolates, which seemed an odd choice for breakfast.  The suspense was too much, and Erestor burst out with, “There are no plates.”

“I know, sweetheart. And we will fix that for you. But first, I want you to close your eyes. No peeking.” Fingon made one or two rather startling motions in front of Erestor’s eyes to ensure compliance was actually occurring. Satisfied, he reached for the tiny bowl of rhubarb syrup Glorfindel held out to him on prearranged signal. Dipping in a finger, he next traced the sweet liquid over Erestor’s lips, dragging his fingertip slowly and allowing it to be nibbled on when Erestor’s mouth opened as expected. With Fingon’s other hand offered to Glorfindel, they executed the maneuver they had practiced several times earlier; the blond disrobed, silently climbed onto the stepstool, pivoted, and laid himself down in a fluid motion. And as predicted, Erestor was so preoccupied with the unexpected taste that he did not pay any mind to the extremely soft noises of Glorfindel adjusting his body on the tabletop. “Do you like the taste?” Fingon purred.

“This is not raspberry,” replied Erestor, who almost opened his eyes, but recalled the directions before he did so.  He licked his lips and smiled with delight.  “I almost left a note with suggestions, but this is so much better than the ideas I had.”

“Oh darling, we have barely begun. Open wide, and try this now.” When Erestor obliged, a small piece of the rhubarb marshmallow was popped in his mouth, and now Fingon flew into action ‘filling the plate.’ In moments, Glorfindel’s taut chest and abdomen were transformed into an appealing and erotic meal. Already his excitement at substituting for earthenware was most...apparent.

“This is so good.  You both must have stayed up all night concocting these treats for me,” recognized Erestor.  “I have a feeling these are just appetizers.”

“Indeed,” Fingon said as he hastily grabbed a hidden pastry bag and topped of Glorfindel with a few details. He tossed the pastry bag into a bowl on the counter, grabbed another, finished his work while Glorfindel wiggled his toes and tried not to laugh.  After depositing this pastry bag into the bowl with the first, Fingon licked some stray cream from his fingers and admired his work for a moment before he regarded Erestor once again.  “You may open your eyes now, Erestor. Your breakfast is served.”

“Oooh.”  Erestor was not sure exactly what he expected when he opened his eyes, but he was certainly not expecting what he saw.  Glorfindel seemed to have suddenly appeared before him, and was decorated with a variety of edible breakfast treats.  One could argue that Glorfindel himself looked good enough to eat, with the artful arrangement of fruits adorning his torso, and the tiny pancake stacks that stayed balanced even with his breathing.  The same syrup that Fingon allowed Erestor to sample was dribbled over the tiny pancakes, and dollops of whipped cream covered Glorfindel’s nipples and things lower that allowed some amount of imagination.  Written in syrup, arching over a decorated navel that held a large grape the size of a small plum, were the words ‘Eat Me’.  “You two were busy last night,” was all Erestor managed to say as he noticed the late blooming rose held between Glorfindel’s teeth.

“Well since you wore yourself out on rhubarb, we could hardly allow you to be disappointed, could we? And speaking of disappointed, I think Fin really wants you to eat something.” Fingon could not help it; he knew he was grinning shamelessly. “I know I really want to watch you eat something,” he added, just in case somehow the visuals were not enough provocation.

“I know exactly what he wants me to eat,” answered Erestor, and he swiped his finger through the massive amount of whipped cream covering Glorfindel’s lowest extremities, dangerously close to what was being covered.  He sucked the whipped cream off of his finger while making eye contact with Fingon.  “Since you have made it clear that you are in charge, perhaps you should tell me where to start.”  As an afterthought, he added, “I should probably take this robe off, too.  I expect this is going to get messy very quickly.”

“I think it should be like a good relationship,” Fingon crooned, resting his chin on his hands now that he had taken a seat opposite Erestor, with Glorfindel between them. “Give a little, take a little. I think you should give Fin a little of what he wants, and make sure you eat some of your food before it can get cold.” Idly, he caressed the arm nearest him, thoroughly enjoying Glorfindel’s obvious happiness.

Erestor stood up slowly and shrugged off the robe onto his chair.  “I just want you both to know, I am very impressed by all of this.  The food, the… arrangements… and your ability to pull this whole thing off, literally right under my nose.”  His little speech gave Erestor time to size up his living platter, and he decided to start with pancakes.  The lack of silverware made sense now, and Erestor had to carefully navigate his way.  He chose to seek out the one that appeared easiest to reach, and found it much like bobbing for apples, except that upon retrieving a pancake successfully, he also managed to get dabs of whipped cream on his chin and left eyebrow.  “This is going to be quite interesting,” he assessed after the second pancake left whipped cream on his nose and right ear.

“Oh, let me help with that,” Fingon exclaimed, moving with remarkable speed. The cream on the ear was suckled off, and what was on the nose was promptly kissed away. “You see, I am the napkin,” he explained coyly. “And I am sure I speak for Fin also, whose lips are a little occupied, when I tell you that we are enchanted to see you enjoying our little treat.”

“It seems like a pretty big treat to me.”  Erestor flicked his tongue at the whipped cream between Glorfindel’s legs without actually touching any skin.  “I am going to get back to this later,” he said as he waved his hand around the area.  “We should just call this dessert,” he promised as he worked around to the head of the table.  Now, instead of worrying too much of being careful, he made a show of leaning in over the table to fetch a chunk of melon between his teeth.  When he straightened up again, there were smudges of cream and syrup on his throat and chest, and he gave Fingon a challenging look as he ate his fruit.

“Honey, are you forgetting I am a dancer?” Fingon smirked, easily flexing his spine to assume a pose for which most of them would have needed a week at the healers’ afterward. A very eager tongue went to work on the minor mess, dragging with exacting deliberation across Erestor’s nipple on its way to the sweetness above. “We both expect your appetite to be quite insatiable this morning, after such a nice long rest,” he teased, knowing it would not take much to get the better of Erestor.

Erestor had to reach out for the chair, and he held it with a little whimper as he watched and felt what Fingon was doing.  “I hope someone tested the stability of this table ahead of time,” he playfully warned.  Around the table to the bottom of it he now went, and he looked over his options.  Glorfindel’s legs were draped over the edge at the knees, which put the invitation of the whipped cream sinfully close.  While there were pieces of fruit, pancakes, or cream over just about everything, Glorfindel’s thighs were clear.  Erestor settled a hand on one for stability as he leaned forward to nibble on the fruit around Glorfindel’s navel, leaving the grape untouched for now.  With one hand still free, Erestor reached into the whipped cream mound, where he began to stroke whatever he touched.

Fingon grinned, arching one eyebrow. While he guessed Erestor would succumb soon enough, at this point his mission was now to rescue the food. Quite systematically, he began scooping the little pancakes into a dab of syrup, a small dollop of cream, and bringing them to Erestor’s mouth, since clearly at least one hand was past the point of return. With the pieces of fruit he decided to exercise more creativity, offering especially the melon slices held neatly in his own lips; each bite required a kiss from Erestor if he wished to keep eating. And always, the clever hands kept darting out to barely brush a sensitive nipple. 

There was no longer any reason for Erestor to try to retrieve food on his own, which was appreciated, for the up and down motions became dizzying.  This allowed him to stand up and alternate his free hand between rubbing Glorfindel’s thigh and sliding it along Fingon’s arm or neck, depending on how close he was when he brought food.  When the melon was incorporated, it gave Erestor a chance to stroke Fingon’s hair or tease his thumb over a ear, and all the while he used his other hand to begin preparation of Glorfindel with the whipped cream and excess syrup that dribbled down.

Glorfindel turned his head to the side and spat the rose out onto the table.  Groans through clenched teeth caused him to chew at the stem, and the mangled flower now tumbled to the floor.  He almost made mention of it, but then Erestor’s hand moved from outer preparation to inner preparation, and Glorfindel’s head lolled to the other side.  He lifted his hips encouragingly with a pleasured sigh.

Perceiving readily the direction in which breakfast was progressing, Fingon deftly began relocating glasses of juice and goblets of water to far safer locations, eyeing the table itself. Absolutely no one had tested its soundness in this regard, though it appeared to be a sturdily constructed item of furniture. A quick glance underneath showed cross-pieces and well-made joints that appeared able to cope with heavy loads and… well, apparently it was all about to be put to a test. He noted with satisfaction that most of the food was consumed and… oh dear, no one had remembered to feed poor Glorfindel anything, not that he appeared to be hungry in that sense of the word. There were still some remnants on the kitchen counter and… Erestor seemed to be making dedicated progress toward one particular goal. Staring in mild disbelief at both the mess and the table, Fingon shrugged. There were times to get over oneself, and apparently this was one of those. One lone pat of butter remained near the stove in its dish; he whisked half of it up with a knife and daintily transferred it to his fingertips. 

He caressed Erestor’s lower back, feathering touches into his cleft. Somehow this was all the more enjoyable with the knowledge of how unexpected it would be, and he was not disappointed.  A gasp of surprise from the dark ellon preceded a moan of hopefulness.

Without needing to consider it for more than a moment, Erestor maneuvered his feet apart and arched his back just slightly, just enough to unabashedly present himself, all while still making progress with his preparation of Glorfindel, who was undoubtedly able to see what was happening simply from the look on Erestor’s face.  Taking a deep breath, Erestor looked over his shoulder and asked, “Care to join us… for brunch?”

“I do not mind if I do,” said Fingon huskily, feeling unusually open to the current experience. He could still smell the cleanliness of Erestor’s bath on his skin, and the scent of the sheets he had slept on. Fresh, appealing fragrances, that mingled delicately with the warmer and sweeter smells of the food. Very… intoxicating, really. His buttered fingers found the puckered entrance so willingly offered, and began tracing gentle circles.

By now, Glorfindel was more than ready.  Erestor slid his hand back so that he could grip the edge of the table with both hands, and let out a low moan.  This caused Glorfindel to lift himself up on his elbows to get a better view.  It seemed to suddenly hit Glorfindel exactly what was going on, and he felt his own pulse race as he watched.  As for Erestor, he begged for more with his body, uncertain if words of encouragement would be helpful or hinder.

Fingon watched the language of Erestor’s form, which spoke to him far louder than words or needful noises. It was the closest thing he had yet seen to a motion of dance; a physical expression more eloquent in his eyes. His passion stimulated a little more; he unhesitatingly did what he had watched Glorfindel do countless times, and plunged his finger inside, eyes widening at both the still unusual sensations and the response he received in return.

“Yes!” Erestor had not meant for the outburst, but nonetheless, there it was, and he followed it with an unmistakable plea.  “I need this.  I need you.”  He bowed his head, unsure if fear or shame led to it, and readjusted his hold on the table.  “Sorry,” he whispered as he realized what he had just done.

For a moment, Fingon paused, caught between the unfettered exclamation and the apology. He blinked, sensing that he had just heard a fragment of honesty from someplace inside of Erestor usually more carefully guarded. Swallowing in his own uncertainty, he carefully but just as purposefully pushed a second finger inside, this time finding and stroking the swelling deep within that he knew would please his lover yet more.

Body shaking, Erestor moved his hands to Glorfindel’s thighs, kneading his fingers as he rocked back slightly.  Words escaped him, and he hoped the pleasured sounds he made were more than enough to encourage Fingon to continue.  He looked down the length of the table and locked eyes with Glorfindel.  He hoped his expression conveyed not only how much he wanted whatever Fingon was willing to give, but how much he wanted Glorfindel at the same time.

Fingon’s breathing came quicker; Erestor’s level of want could not be in question. The surprise was in his own desire; from his inability to remove his eyes from the beauty in front of him to the physical responses of his own body. How curious, this was… but finding himself here invariably brought… memories.

It was after supper the night following the departure of the convoy to the Sirion.  Four convoys were sent in total, but only one secreted away Fingon’s heir, and his greatest joy in the years spent ruling after his father’s death.  His wife had of course gone with Ereinion, as had Erien and Finbor.  The butler was sent along; it seemed wrong to Fingon to further break the family, for his butler had been his wife’s true lover, and the father of the younger two children.  It hurt so much that night not to have Ereinion there to ask him for a bedtime story, and for the little bed in the nursery to be empty.  Lack of the other two children who had called him father and whom he had loved as if he had truly been related to them added insult to injury.

Barely a word was exchanged between himself and Maedhros.  A few times during the meal he felt his chin tremble or his eyes sting, but Fingon would just take a deep breath and find something to preoccupy himself, from arranging his carrots by size and color to rolling pieces of bread into little balls which he stacked into pyramids.  When it was evident Fingon was no longer eating at all, Maedhros stood up and took the bottle of wine from the table.  “Come,” was all he said as he walked away, and Fingon obediently followed.

  
  


They sat in one of the alcoves of the royal chambers.  It was a room extremely unfamiliar to Fingon.  He spent a few months there after being named High King, but ceded them completely to his wife not long after the announcement that she was with child.  Not only did they both agree that sharing the same chamber for sleeping was awkward, for Fingon it was too strange to be in the room his father had inhabited for so long.  His relocation to the attached nursery was intended to be temporary, but following Ereinion’s birth, and Fingon’s subsequent adoration of his son, he was grateful for the close proximity, from collicy afternoons to sleepless evenings when Ereinion was cutting teeth.  It was better now to be in the plush room with its massive, vaulted canopied bed instead.  The nursery would be too quiet and held too many memories.

“You will see him again soon,” spoke Maedhros, for there was no doubt that Ereinion’s departure had caused a change in Fingon’s demeanor that day.  “In a few weeks time, we will have defeated the great evil.  We will finish what our fathers started.”  Maedhros held the bottle out to Fingon, but Fingon shook his head.  “Come on.  You will feel better.”

“Unlikely,” disputed Fingon, but he reached for the bottle all the same.  Whether the wine was sweet or dry, red or white, Fingon could not recall.  He could not remember the casual conversation that followed, even though he and Maedhros sat and talked and shared the bottle of wine to the last drop.  In fact, the next thing he did clearly recollect was the feel of the back of his legs against the mattress of the bed as he and Maedhros kissed their way from the alcove to the center of the room.

“Wait…”  Fingon grasped Maedhros’ shoulders to hold him away for a moment.  “Maedhros, stop.  Not now.”

Maedhros stopped pursuing Fingon’s lips, but continued to kiss along his lover’s neck.  “Why not?” he murmured.

Fingon swallowed hard as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back.  “Not here,” he half-heartedly pleaded.

A firm hand gasped Fingon’s rear and a talented tongue teased his ear as Maedhros whispered, “If not here, where?  If not now, when?  If not with me, then who?”  And then, the words that allowed Maedhros to manipulate Fingon, to do whatever he desired: “I love you.”

From there, it was a short journey onto the bed, and off with the clothing.  Maedhros was aroused - very aroused.  Fingon was… not.  And panic set in, but by then Maedhros was all over and everywhere, and crooning such beautiful words to him.  So Fingon just closed his eyes and waited for something to happen.

When Maedhros breached him with thick, insistent fingers, Fingon cried out.  There was a pause, a moment of uncertainty, but when Maedhros asked if all was well, Fingon did what he thought he had to.

He lied.

Fingon spent the next quarter hour waffling between hoping he would achieve an erection and praying it would all be over soon.  When Maedhros asked if he wanted to stay on his back or roll onto his stomach, Fingon chose the latter - not because he wanted the deeper penetration, but because he feared if Maedhros caught sight of his face in the moonlight or felt his lack of excitement he would be discovered as a fraud.  And then, as Fingon hoped it was near to the end, it really began.  It was raw, uncomfortable, and unceasingly long.  Fingon clung to the pillow, tried to make his sobs sound like moans, and kept repeating in his mind the words he longed to hear: I love you.  It was the only thing that seemed to validate the act.

And after Maedhros spilled what little he could manage within, and reached between Fingon’s legs only to have the king squirm away from the touch, Fingon lied again when asked if he had found pleasure in their lovemaking, for how could he admit to this lovely, lonely man who had sacrificed for him, and Fingon for Maedhros in return, that there was nothing, and he felt nothing, and he was empty from the inadvertent torture?  And Fingon kissed Maedhros with false appreciation, and blamed his tears on joy, and stayed that night in Maedhros’ arms, unable to sleep as Maedhros found peace in dreams.

****

That so much recollection could flash past in the blink of an eye… Fingon gave a quick shake of his head against the reverie. Nothing about here and now equalled there and… then, he reminded himself. The incredibly forgettable and regrettable… then. Here and now, was Erestor, Erestor who revealed more understanding of him in those early letters of love than Maedhros ever been able to manage. Maybe it had been no one’s fault; maybe not all love could reach  fruition. Maybe he and Maedhros had been too hounded by the twin demons of war and obligation. This love, with Glorfindel and Erestor, felt different. Of that, he was certain. Which is perhaps why he felt more intensely aroused to work a third finger inside of Erestor, who so gradually and exquisitely was coming undone from his methodical attentions. Though not fully stimulated, he felt himself hardening. This was a bit like watching a chrysalis open, with the uncertainty of exactly what would unfold next.

Watching the scene was mesmerizing, but Glorfindel decided being an inanimate object was less fun now that the diners were hungry for something more.  He sat up slowly and plucked away the pieces of fruit and wayward pancakes which did not drop off haphazardly on their own.  Glorfindel kept hold of Erestor’s darkening gaze as he readjusted on the edge of the table, glad that someone in a century past had sense to bolt the furniture to the floor.  It seemed rather silly when first noticed, but now Glorfindel was quite thankful for the consideration, even if it was not done for the reasons he had in mind.  Erestor’s lips were parted slightly and invitingly, and Glorfindel placed his hand to Erestor’s cheek.  “He is so beautifully and thoroughly unraveling your inhibitions,” recognized Glorfindel of Fingon, and he slowly alternated between kissing Erestor full on the lips, tongue plunged deep, and suckling on that blessed curve between throat and shoulder, leaving a noticeable dark trail upon sunkissed skin.

Erestor’s guard was effectively brought down from the overstimulation of his obliging partners, and he had his hands all over Glorfindel, but he arched and rolled his hips in time with Fingon’s movements.  “I want you both,” tumbled from his lips the next time Glorfindel latched onto his neck.  There was a groan, and before Glorfindel was able to steal Erestor’s breath again, Erestor turned his head to get a glimpse of Fingon.  It was so much, so close, and perhaps too much to admit, too much to ask for, but he addressed his desire all the same.  “I want to know you completely.  I want to know how it feels to have you move inside of me.”  And now, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, and eyes full of fear, he held his breath.

Fingon stopped his ministrations, and gently withdrew his fingers so he could reach around Erestor to touch Glorfindel as well. He leaned forward, feeling his hardening erection fit into Erestor’s cleft. The smoothness of his magnificent rear, pressing into his hips; the warmth that radiated from the dark one’s back into his chest. The match of their bodies, curved as tightly together as puzzle pieces with no spaces between. Yes, he could do this. Fuck that, he  _ wanted  _ to do this, with no lies, deceptions or meaningless self-sacrifice involved because of chasing whispered words of endearment. No one here had to tell him they loved him; they showed it in a hundred ways each day. Wondering and yearning to hear ‘I love you’ had become superfluous, replaced by surety. Placing a single kiss on Erestor’s shoulder, he backed away, and did what came to mind. The knife scooped up the last half-pat of butter. With a wink at Glorfindel, Fingon put it to best use, greasing his shaft before taking the firm globes of Erestor’s backside in hand, massaging them apart.

It was the exquisite feel of skin against skin that caused Erestor’s heart to flutter and a gasp to be caught in his throat.  He felt Fingon’s lips on his shoulder, but a moment later when he lost contact, Erestor had a moment of panic.  He began to turn, ready to apologize, but a hand firmly kept him facing forward.  “You are going to enjoy this so much,” promised Glorfindel, his fingers carding through Erestor’s hair.  He had both hands stroking the dark tresses, tracing along Erestor’s ears, and Glorfindel smiled as he noticed Fingon wink.  “I want you inside of me,” declared Glorfindel, in case there had been any doubt.  “I love that feeling.  I always have.”

Leaning forward again, Fingon brought a strand of the inky hair behind Erestor’s ear, allowing his lips to move against the sensitive edges as he spoke. “Take him,” he demanded, smoothing his hands idly down the curve of his shoulder. Kisses were peppered there as well, followed by an unmistakable grind of his pelvis against Erestor’s backside. “Now.”

In an elegant move that Glorfindel expected would make Fingon exceedingly proud, the blond extended one leg, toes pointed, and bent his knee over Erestor’s unoccupied shoulder.  Erestor appeared for a moment too overwhelmed to comprehend what Fingon commanded, but then Erestor took hold of Glorfindel’s hips, and a moment later, they were fused together, each so attuned to the body of the other that there was no need to check alignment.  Glorfindel sighed and offered a quick kiss before he leaned back, sprawled over the table.  Erestor lifted Glorfindel’s other leg over his own shoulder.  With Glorfindel’s ass lifted slightly off the table, Erestor was able to grip the rounded flesh, and began to roll his hips.  Their rhythm was familiar; his anticipation of what was to come was not.

Fingon leaned in again. “Are you sure you want me, beautiful?” The question came in a drawled, teasing tone of voice but was designed to do more than create suspense. He needed to hear--believe--one more time that Erestor’s desire was truly real. There would be no repeat of his own first experience. Delicate fingers traced invisible patterns over Erestor’s chest while he awaited an answer.

Erestor slowed his movements from rolling thrusts to shallow glides.  His eyes were closed, and his question almost seemed addressed to both of the men in the room with him.  “Are you sure you want me?”

From his reclined position on the table, Glorfindel spoke up as he lifted his foot to tenderly touch Fingon’s shoulder.  “I believe the correct answer to those questions is a resounding and exuberant ‘yes’.”

“Mmmmmm thank you Fin,” Fingon purred, reaching immediately to massage the proffered foot. “That earns a-”  _ Kiss.  _ “-reward-”  _ Kiss.  _  “-for answering so-”  _ Kiss.  _  “-promptly. But I did not hear a second response. So now I want to be…” he turned, to bite at Erestor’s ear, “begged.” Adjusting himself, he ensured his swollen erection could move easily between Erestor’s cheeks. Up, down. Up, down. Ever so slowly.

“I think he means you, sweetheart,” added Glorfindel, who now used his other foot to caress the side of Erestor’s face.  “And I will admit, I am thrilled at the prospect and delighted at my good fortune to hear your performance, and regret only that we do not get to see you on your knees, for I find that most befitting of begging, and a most becoming position for you to be in.”

Erestor shuddered and gasped.  “I want--”

“Need,” whispered Glorfindel encouragingly.

Erestor swallowed hard as Fingon teased against him, and as he felt his own length filling Glorfindel, who clenched his muscles encouragingly.  “I need your sweet release within me.  I need to feel the heat of your essence through my body, all the way to my fingertips.”

Once again, Glorfindel opined.  “That is not begging, and you know it,” he playfully scolded.

It seemed Erestor had no intention of disputing this, yet had every intention of continuing on with his attempt.  He stilled his movements, still rooted within Glorfindel, and bowed his head submissively.  “Please…”  Erestor fought for the rest of the words. 

“Please what, sweetheart?” Fingon murmured. “You are so close. I will fuck you just like you want to be fucked, but I don’t do this for just anyone. If you want me, I will hear you beg. I will hear the plea from deep inside of you. What desire are you hiding away, darkling? One gem deserves another.” Retreating, his lips suckled briefly on Erestor’s earlobe before he leaned back again.

“Please… I need you so badly,” he whimpered.  “Please, fu--”  Erestor clenched his teeth, and Glorfindel’s hand stretched out, and fingertips grazed Erestor briefly, but seemed to transfer some sort of courage to him.  “Please, fuck me.  Use me.  Take me as hard as you can, Káno, please.  I want to feel everything, I want you in me.  Please, please come inside of me, give me everything.  I want all of you, and I never want to have to apologize for that.”

“Oh, beautiful,” whispered Fingon, aligning himself at Erestor’s entrance and pressing in just firmly enough to keep himself in position. “That was very good, but Glorfindel was right. The words are not easy for you, are they? You are so close,” he whispered even as he nipped at the bare shoulder. “Tell me why you need me. Why do you need me so badly, sweetheart? Answer that and you shall have your wish.”

The noise from Erestor almost sounded like defeat, and Glorfindel reached out to graze Erestor’s knuckles with his fingertips.  “Tell him.  I want to hear you say it, too,” said Glorfindel with complete sincerity.  “Do not be afraid.  We want you to have this, but we need you to affirm it.”

“I want other people to look into your eyes, and I want them to know I belong to you.  Both of you,” Erestor added as he looked down to Glorfindel.  Then he turned his head, so there was no mistake that he was addressing Fingon, though his eyes were lidded as he spoke.  “I went so long, pretending I did not need this.  Pretending that I did not even want this.  I lied to everyone, but I lied to myself most of all.”  He squeezed his eyes shut as tears slid down his cheeks.  “And I would be lying if I said I did not care if we ever joined in this way.  But I never said a word because it means so much more to me just to be near you.  I would have whatever you would give me and cherish it deeply, but what you offer now, to give this moment to me, I cannot even describe how much my soul sings for this.  It might seem trivial, but to have you claim me, and take me… it just… makes it real and undeniable, and I have wanted it so badly.  From that moment, outside, that night, you had me, but I… I wanted this, I wanted us.  All of us, together.  It was not about this; not about sex.  It was about being a family together.  But I desired this, too.   And it seemed so damned gluttonous, and still even then I felt I had to resign myself to settle for scraps, as if I did not deserve the happiness I craved.  Even now, there is something within me that wishes to practice caution, that makes me feel this is wrong, even though I feel so very alive and fulfilled when I am with both of you.  There is some bloody etiquette alarm that screams words like ‘marriage’ and ‘vows’ in my head, as if only some ceremony will sanction all this, and yet I know there are some who will still turn their heads from us in shame and pray for mercy upon our souls for this act - this beautiful, loving, sacred thing we are about to do.  Yet, how can this possibly be a sin?  How can a promise of such complete jubilation between us be blasphemous?”

The joy in Fingon’s heart welled up, and his arms wrapped around Erestor, now caressing him lavishly. “Sweetheart, all I wanted was a little begging and you gave me poetry. Now I will always want to hear more. You have opened your spirit to me; now feel my body join to yours. Lean into me, lover. You have words, but I have dance.” Not knowing precisely what he was about to feel was not stopping him at this point; inexperience did not matter. His mind might not know every skill of lovemaking, but his body… his sinuous, graceful body that knew every means by which to flex and every rhythm, pushed his arousal slowly forward into his lover’s heat, driven on even more when he heard the first whimper of ecstasy.

The movement caused Erestor to press deeper into Glorfindel, whose arms now stretched out over his head, blissful in knowing that it was not just Erestor he felt, but the energy from Fingon, shared with him through Erestor.  The knowledge that Erestor was filled fully while snugly within Glorfindel’s body caused a rumbling, contented noise to come from Glorfindel, who now greatly desired to be in closer contact with his companions.  He settled for moving one hand to touch the back of Erestor’s hand, still upon his thigh.  “It feels so good,” he complimented as he squeezed his muscles and attempted to pull Erestor further in.  He noticed the look of uncertainty as Erestor’s eyes fluttered open, streaks from his tears evident all the way down his throat to his chest, and Glorfindel took gentle hold of Erestor’s hand.  “This feels so right,” he added.

Glorfindel’s words seemed to grant Erestor permission to accept the enjoyment of the perceived indulgence in which he was partaking, and to view it now not as something unusual or unnatural, but as perfection yet unknown.  And it was sweet, sweeter perhaps than Erestor’s first true night in Rivendell with Glorfindel had been, because now and at last Erestor came to the realization that he was not engaging in two separate relationships, but was part of an intimate tripartite, in which he had significant honor in being the link between two parties which otherwise might have been nothing more than ships passing in the night.  It sparked within a new appreciation and understanding of the trials of his life - not those which he set upon himself unfairly, but those circumstances where it had to be someone, and where he had, for better or for worse, accepted his role.  It felt, therefore, that this was his reward, to feel such love and peace and desire.  He knew he could be heard; he knew the gasped, half-sobs might not be taken for pleasure, and he shakily twined his fingers with Glorfindel’s to lift them close and kiss his palm, then to turn his head, and nuzzle the calf resting over his shoulder before he attempted to turn his body just enough to kiss Fingon without dislodging anything.

Closing his eyes with the press of Erestor’s lips, Fingon found a comfortable meter; one which matched the time signature in his thoughts. If he found it new, and unusual, that considerations of doubt or hesitation subsumed themselves under candor and acceptance, he chose not to dwell thereon. What did come to mind were all the fleeting occasions on which he had ever imagined dancing for his partners,  _ with _ his partners. The elation born of perfections in movement; silent expressions of emotion acted out but not verbalized. To this, he consigned himself. The languid thrusting into Erestor’s passage was a given; the mere underpinning of a greater symphony. His hands took firm hold of Erestor’s shoulders and one more whispered command was spoken. “Relax. Yield to my hands.” Gently, barely perceptibly, he guided Erestor’s upper body into a fluid motion that described a figure eight. Weaving, undulating. When the dark one’s acquiescence pleased him, he murmured praise. “Yes. Let Glorfindel feel you. Feel us. Moving as one.”

_ Moving as one.  _  They were powerful words for Erestor to hear.  Powerful, too, were the commands from Fingon.  There was a moment of defiance, a figurative digging in of his heels, until somewhere, something dormant, something he almost forgot was there, reawakened.  For so long, neither he nor Glorfindel really had defined roles in their relationship - they just were.  Roles were unnecessary and hampered so many delights, and yet it was quite known to Erestor that Glorfindel did not have a great desire to be dominant with his partners, which only quite logically to Erestor caused him to take on what he expected were those responsibilities.  Yet here he was, and those words… those words he could happily drown in.  The way that Fingon spoke and how he offered pleasure to Erestor made Erestor conclude that submission was not equal to weakness.  There was strength in admitting his needs and desires, a great deal of trust required to be taken so thoroughly, and much to be gained by embracing his own vulnerability, for he was awash with the raw emotions he felt from his companions.

Fingon felt… many things, but right now, empowered would be chief among them. Had there ever been an instance in which the delights of his mind matched that which his body provided, outside of that safe cocoon of the times he chose to pleasure himself? This moment he experienced, for the first time in his life, as close to that same sense of security as he had ever known, and the visible sense that his partners not only responded to his control but revelled in it--well, this emboldened in a way few other things had. He had not really liked many aspects of being a King. The absolute power over others had never been something he relished… and yet a place inside of him very much knew how to wield it. He could be unafraid, when he permitted it. Beyond unafraid. Courageous. And he knew what Erestor wanted; his requests had been plain enough. 

Without warning, Fingon roughly carded his fingers deep into Erestor’s hair, grabbing a large fistful of it and twisting. Roughly, he jerked Erestor’s head back--just a little, forcing his neck into a beautifully exposed line. He sank his teeth hard into the junction between neck and shoulder, bruising but not breaking the precious skin. And now that he felt sure of the angle of his penetration, he began to plunge in hard. As hard as he could, while his spare hand reached around to tormentingly brush one nipple or another. He did not need this, but Erestor did. Right now, that was enough cause to give it. He caught Glorfindel’s eye with a brief but wicked smile. Yes, there was more than reason...and he was hardly suffering himself.

“Finally,” uttered Glorfindel, whether he ought to or not.  In the years since he had returned to the cottage, there had been a sort of tension between them.  Not an unhappy or debilitating tension, but something unresolved.  Now it seemed to dissipate.  Glorfindel could not help but smile back before he closed his eyes and concentrated on the deep thrusts that he was the most willing recipient of.

For Erestor, the experience was everything he wanted, and a few things he did not know he needed until now.  He stopped trying to make love to Glorfindel; his movements were akin to two people attempting to lead the same dance.  Relinquishing control to Fingon produced better results.  Erestor focused on two things - keeping his footing, for he had felt some errant whipped cream between his toes, and not overthinking the situation.  No more analysis, no further recollections.  He could reflect later.  He just wanted to feel right now, and what he was feeling was very, very good.  Breathing was the only thing he really had to keep doing, and the sensations his detachment from logic allowed were like soaring or swimming - a plane of reality where boundaries and limits did not exist.  Erestor’s hands slid along the body of one lover and then the other, sometimes unsure of whom he was touching, for at times he even became bold enough to touch himself.

“Is this how you like it, darling?” Fingon crooned, now bracing himself by roughly pulling against Erestor’s collarbones. 

When Erestor only whimpered, Glorfindel coaxed him to speak.  “Tell him what you want, baby.  I know you can.  Tell him how you like it.”

The words were soft, but sincere and hopeful.  “You… need not… be gentle.  I rather enjoy… that is… given a choice…”

“GIve him examples,” encouraged Glorfindel

Cheeks flushed again, but Erestor said, in an even softer voice, “You can… play a little rough.  Only if you want to.  Bite me, spank me, pull my hair.”

Fingon obliged with vigor, now slamming into him, which seemed both alarming and erotic all at the same time. Between thrusts his free hand delivered a stinging and perfectly timed smack to Erestor’s bottom. “Is this how you want to be used?” That question was finished off with another slap and a hard bite. Already a trail of purpling bruises blossomed along the line from his neck into his shoulder, but his lover had encouraged every one of these marks… so he kept on with the play so much harsher and more tempestuous than he ordinarily would wish for himself. The surprise lay in just how much he found himself enjoying fulfilling Erestor’s desire. The taste of the dark one’s creamy skin intoxicated, as did the torrent of small sounds that poured from his throat.

“It… it is, but…”  Erestor shook his head and flailed an arm behind, not sure what he was trying to reach.  “Maybe… might be… too much… at once...”  He settled on gripping the table to steady himself, and to lean forward, enough to keep Fingon from driving into him fully (and yet, rooting himself deeper within Glorfindel), yet not enough for him to lose the connection completely with Fingon.  “I am so close - I want to enjoy this - but is this all? The only time? Then yes, be rough with me.  Fuck me as hard as you can so I feel it forever.”

Fingon did his best to hide the sharp intake of air, for the words fell like needles. Hugging Erestor to him, he closed his eyes, and for only a brief moment absorbed what this dark one had given him--unconditional love and respect for his own needs, in denial of what he needed in return. But this moment was too special, too sacred to dwell on recriminations. That and more could be considered--later. Right now, the question needed a wordless answer. For a second time, he took the inky hair in his hand, but this time he ran his fingers up the back of Erestor’s head, cupping it with spread fingers, and insistently turning Erestor’s face to him. The position required no small amount of contortion but fortunately that was not outside of his ability. “Kiss me, Erestor. Kiss me and do not stop.” Hazel eyes bored intently into deep brown ones.

Erestor licked his lips.  He, too, had to assume a slightly awkward position in order to stay linked to both of his lovers while acquiescing to the request.  It was a request that Erestor was only too willing to fulfill, and he shivered as his mouth sealed over Fingon’s, and his tongue ventured forward with familiarity.  Erestor paused between each kiss so that he had a moment to savor each one individually.  Between the sixth and seventh, he had a request of his own, and whispered it against Fingon’s lips.  “Dance with me,” he pleaded.

“With you, in you… anything for you, beautiful. I shall dance with you always,” Fingon whispered. “But I want something in return. I want to feel you explode, and know that I did that to you. And I know just how to help.” The kisses against his shoulders were soft now, as were the nibbles and licks to the edge of his ears as Fingon worked Erestor in a rocking motion--in every possible manner. Sinuously… slowly… sensually… swaying. Fingertips ghosted over to Erestor’s chest, where they did more than idly brush past. Finding his nipples, they now paused to gently caress, pinch and twist. “I love you, Erestor. With all my heart.”

Even as the movements changed, Erestor continued to kiss Fingon as he had been instructed to do.  Sometimes it was his shoulder or his cheek, and other times he knew only that he had managed the task as he closed his eyes, vision blurring.  Vaguely did he register that at some point contact was lost with Glorfindel, but he was held in place by Fingon, and right now, he was enjoying what he wanted in that moment.  Fleeting touches and gentle caresses caused tremors through his body, and he lost the words that would express his feelings again, and so he stopped censoring his grunts and moans, which were but punctuation after each kiss.  Somehow he retained enough consideration to recall that which Fingon most enjoyed, and he managed one arm up, fingers toying their way around the curve of Fingon’s ear.

Fingon, for his part, was fighting to maintain control; struggling not to climax in view of the onslaught to his ears. His breath was coming in short gasps. “Not fair,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance.”  Glorfindel, who had been sitting up to watch for a bit, now carefully eased off of the table and assumed the position he had been so keen to see Erestor in earlier.  A bowl containing the remainder of the syrup was in his hand, and he drizzled some of it over Erestor’s erection.  “How terribly clumsy of me,” he announced as he set the bowl aside on the floor.  “I guess I should clean this up.”  And he set to work suckling the syrup from the length while he used the pads of two fingers to rub the underside of Erestor’s scrotum.  This accomplished two things: Actually cleaning up the mess, and distracting Erestor from his assault of Fingon’s ears, for now Erestor’s hands were holding Glorfindel’s shoulders, and the sounds from Erestor went up in pitch.

“Mmmmm, I like those noises, darling. Are we making you feel good? I can hardly wait,” Fingon whispered. “You are about to be mine.” He took another possessive nip at Erestor’s earlobe for emphasis. Fingon crooned more words of want and affection at him, desperately hoping he could outlast Erestor before he climaxed. He was close to his limits, and more eager for this bonding than he wished to let on lest he break the current mood.

“I was yours… before…” Those were the last words that Erestor managed before communication devolved into noisy panting with higher crescendos each time Glorfindel hollowed his cheeks and fondled Erestor.  He shook; he cried out, and he fumbled to hold onto the back of Glorfindel’s neck with one hand.  The other was occupied, bent up over his shoulder in an attempt to touch Fingon as his hips jutted forward several times, and he released in a cacophony of all of the percussive sounds he had been making that morning. 

“Not like this.” Eyes opening wide, all the air seemed to flee from Fingon’s lungs as the force of Erestor’s climax squeezed all around him. Afterward he would remember nothing but clinging to his partner, face buried in the raven hair, as the pervasive pleasure of orgasm enfolded him as well. He made no sound he could later recall, except the intake and exhalation of air as he endeavored to breathe through what he knew would be a transition. Just what kind remained to be seen. In the moment, there was only holding onto Erestor, drawing him in tightly; merging their flesh in every possible way until he fully spent himself. Fingon’s chest heaved against Erestor’s back; his body shook and strained for air.

Erestor usually hated to be wrong, but considering the circumstances, he would later admit that Fingon was right.  It was different, and not just different from the other times they had spent intimately enjoying each other’s company.  It went beyond the obvious physical connection that Erestor had only considered possible in wayward daydreams.  Until now, all had been theorized.  But now… now it was different.  His first time with Glorfindel - the time that he was aware of fully in Rivendell - was both frightening and exciting, and came after a long, languid lifetime spent more or less together - two lifetimes for Glorfindel.  It was a lovely experience, and one that Erestor cherished (even during the years spent apart from Glorfindel).  But there had not quite been the fireworks he had expected when they bound, and that he had always blamed on a silly ceremonial archway and unknown encounters from Gondolin onward.  However, this, here, now - this was different.  This was euphoric, and suddenly he felt that he was not who he was, but part of something more.  He had always believed in the concept, and felt he had experienced it with Glorfindel, but only now was it evident that something had been missing.  Something he never quite understood the concept of.  He trembled and wanted to turn and hold and be held and cry out, ‘I understand!’, but all he could do was sob softly and lean back into Fingon.

Glorfindel, who was on his feet now, wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand before he took a moment to wrap his arms around the pair.  Erestor slid an arm around Glorfindel for comfort and support, and Glorfindel nuzzled at both of them before he suggested, “Perhaps we might like to relax in the hot spring outside.  I could help both of you get out there and then fetch towels before I join you.”

Fingon nodded, slipping out of Erestor but grasping his shoulders so as to turn his body and have it be physically possible to face him. “Please,” he whispered, though whether it was the answer to Glorfindel’s suggestion or a plea to Erestor remained unclear. Perhaps it was both. Moisture pooled in his eyes as the glistening orbs entreated Erestor to hold him. Still he could not shake off every last shard of his encounter with Maedhros, and wished to be certain that Erestor desired this contact with him. Whether Erestor felt similarly overcome by their shared experience was something that mattered deeply.

The initial loss of intimate contact was a disappointment to Erestor, but being able to see into Fingon’s eyes - brilliant hazel eyes that seemed now to illuminate from within - filled Erestor with such elation that he embraced Fingon immediately and clung to him even after he heard Glorfindel crossing the kitchen to open a door they rarely used that led directly out to the backyard and consequently the warm pool of water they often bathed and played in.

“I love you,” were the only fully coherent words to escape Fingon’s lips as he buried his face in the curve of Erestor’s neck and continued to speak hopelessly muffled endearments. No further effort was given to fighting the tears driven by intense emotion; weeping fully expressed the relief he felt at seeing love yet in his new mate’s eyes. He vaguely wondered if he was making an idiot of himself with such an overt emotional display, but by and large found that he could not care.

“Alright, lovebirds, right this way,” encouraged Glorfindel as he came back and put an arm around both of them.  He stood with them for a moment, and kissed each in turn upon the brow.  “I think you will both find it more relaxing in the water,” he added.  Erestor nodded slightly, but continued to hold tightly to Fingon.  Glorfindel gave Erestor another kiss, this time on the cheek, and said gently, “You will need to walk.  I cannot carry both of you there,” he teased.

“But I can carry him,” Fingon said, beginning to recover himself a little. At least, he was reasonably certain he could manage. Well. One way to find out. “Up you go, lover.” The greater problem was that once scooped into his arms, he could not take his eyes off Erestor, and found himself fully dependent on Glorfindel to guide his steps.

There was no dispute from Erestor, who put his arms around Fingon’s neck and looked up at him.  “I want to kiss you again,” he drawled, and he did so, though his strength was waning, and it was brief before he snuggled against Fingon.  “I love you so much.”

“You two are hopeless and I find it utterly adorable.”  Glorfindel kept an arm around Fingon and slowly kept them moving, first to the door, then across the lawn, and finally to their private sanctuary.  There was a hammock, a whimsical picnic table with stools that looked like wildly colored mushrooms, and the pool of water which was perpetually blissfully warm.  “Careful, now, we are near the edge.  I am going to retrieve some towels; can the two of you manage without me for a few minutes?” he asked.

“Yes. I will not try to carry him into the water; I know my limits. I will help you in, cupcake. And probably Glorfindel will have to help both of us back out. Alright?”

Glorfindel gave a playful salute before he strolled back to the cottage.  Still nestled in Fingon’s arms, Erestor stretched to steal another kiss.  “Whatever you say, darling,” he whispered.

Fingon leaned down to claim Erestor’s mouth with more interest. “We had-”  _ Kiss. _ “-better-”  _ Kiss. _ “-think about getting-”  _ Kiss. _ “-in the water, beautiful,” he admonished, realizing that it would be entirely possible to have Glorfindel return and find them still rooted to this exact spot. He gently set Erestor back onto his feet.  “In there with you, I will keep hold of your hand if you feel unsteady.” A very gentle swat was delivered to Erestor’s rear by way of a send-off.

However light it was, the smack was almost enough to arouse Erestor again.  He leaned in for one more kiss, and then concentrated on calming his body and carefully stepping down into the water.  The rocks were smooth, but they were still rocks.  Erestor made it into the water, where he now clung to one of the larger stones that was halfway in and out of the water.  He dipped down and felt the water rush up over the top of his head, then pulled himself back up again with the meager amount of energy he still possessed.  The momentary loss of a physical connection with his newly bonded mate was disappointing, and Erestor held out a hand to beckon Fingon in to join him.

“I am coming,” Fingon reassured him, barely able to contain his exultation. It took only a moment for him to rejoin Erestor, and now he could wrap far more of himself all around the dark beauty. “I only want to touch you. Feel you,” he murmured. Inane as it might sound with ongoing repetition, the words came again. “Love you.”

Legs tangled together and Erestor snuggled close.  At some point they would wash up from their lovemaking, but for now, this was all he wanted.  Erestor trailed kissed along Fingon’s chest and throat, and whispered a mantra of “I love you forever and ever and ever”, a single word between each kiss.  When he finished, he placed his hands upon either side of Fingon’s face and looked deeply into his eyes.  “I am blessed to be with you, Findekáno.  That night we spent, all those years ago, I knew what I wanted when I came out here to see you.”  Erestor tilted his head to tenderly kiss Fingon.  “The wait has made this moment so much sweeter.”

“No regrets?” he whispered, stroking Erestor’s cheek with the back of his hand.

“I have a lot of regrets from my past.  A lot of secrets, too,” added Erestor.  “It gets tiresome to worry about it all.  I feel as if I need to stop looking into that reflection of the past and… wait, did you mean, regrets about today?  No… none,” he said firmly.  “What we did… this is an amazing, unexpected gift.”  He bowed his head and swallowed hard.  “I never thought I could feel this…”  he looked up again.  “...whole.”

“I had no idea what to expect.  To be honest, I… I surprised myself today.  In a wonderful way.”  He smiled, one arm still around Erestor’s back while his free hand stroked dark, silky hair.  “This is just such an amazing feeling, cupcake.  I feel I do not have the words to even explain how delighted I am.”

“You… could just speak your mind,” encouraged Erestor.  “Just… say what you want to say.  I would enjoy hearing it,” he said as he wound his arms behind Fingon’s neck.

“Say… what?”  Fingon, who only now realized that he had had a bit of a giddy smile on his face since they entered the water, sobered a bit.  For a moment, he felt something.  It was a tingle, like a tiny zap of lightning in his brain.  “Hold on… are you up there?” He tried not to sound accusing, but was sure his voice was harsher than he intended.

The words did not seem to faze Erestor.  “No.  You are just thinking really loudly.”

Fingon lifted a brow.  “What am I thinking?”

Erestor gave a sleepy smirk.  “If I get it right, do I get a kiss?”

“You can have as many kisses as you want.”

“Then I want all the kisses, beloved.”

A thrilling feeling pulsed through Fingon.  “How did you do that?  How did you know that was what I wanted to call you?”  No doubt, the giddy expression had returned.

“Kiss me and I will tell you.”  Erestor collected his reward thrice before he explained.  “Binding, as you are well aware, allows an easier pathway for one’s thoughts.  Everyone is different, of course.  Some are better receivers, some are better senders, some are equal.”

“I have never been able to do it at all,” said Fingon.  “It was one of the many reasons my grandmother thought of me as her ‘special little idiot’.”

Erestor cringed.  “Some day I am going to have words with that woman, and it will not be to ask for her potato salad recipe.”

“So am I a sender then?” guessed Fingon.  “Other people can just read my thoughts?”

“It is a little more complicated than that.  Senders can typically knowingly project those thoughts.  However, there are some who are really only able to communicate with the person they are bound to.  As to the thought that somehow this is a disability, in what I have read, those who are in your position are terrible with waking telepathy, but manage incredible control in dreams.”

“Oh, right.  I am really good with shared dreaming,” said Fingon, though the reminder was not needed.  “So… what am I thinking now?”

“You have two converging thoughts.  You want to kiss me again, but you are also wondering if Glorfindel got lost in the house.”

Fingon collected his kiss, and then shook his head.  “And it does not bother you to suddenly hear all of my thoughts?”

“Not really.  Now and then, I used to have little whispers of your thoughts, but now they are quite clear and I find it wonderful.  I hear Glorfindel’s thoughts sometimes when he forgets to guard them.  I talk to Elrond and Galadriel at least once a week, and Thranduil and I communicate this way most of the time.  I hear a lot of voices in my head,” Erestor tried to joke.  “I really like hearing yours, even if it is random at times… no, I did not know that you and Turgon had frogs painted on the walls of your room growing up.”

“That is incredible,” remarked Fingon.  “So why am I unable to hear your thoughts?”

“Because I guard them really well,” said Erestor.  “I have to - I never know who might pop in.”

Fingon was playing with the swirls of hair that rode along the surface of the water.  “What would happen if you let your guard down a little?  Could I hear them?”

“You might.”  And Erestor moved his hands so that they were behind Fingon’s back.  At first, Fingon did not understand why Erestor changed his position.  Then, it came like a flood - a mix of emotions, visualizations, and pieces of conversation yet to be had which had been memorized for later use.  There were endearments, directed at him, but there were lovely thoughts about Glorfindel as well, and an odd fixation on the scents around them - the air, the water, and each other.  Playing over all of this was a ballad, a song which seemed of great significance to Erestor given the current situation.  Fingon shook his head rapidly, and this must have been a signal to Erestor, for a moment later, all was quieted.  “Are you alright?”

“Um… huh.  Uh…”  Fingon blinked and nodded slowly, and was thankful that Erestor had thought to steady them.  “That was a lot.”

“Sorry.  I manage to mostly keep it to myself, so it should not bother you in the future,” said Erestor.  “If my block ever slips, though, never feel as if you cannot say something.  Let me know; sometimes I just forget and that jumble begins to wander until someone tells me to quiet my head.”

“I will,” promised Fingon.  “That was just something brand new, and might need some time to adjust on my part. I think I might like to try communicating with each other with our thoughts again - when I am in a less emotionally state of being.  Oh, and look who is coming and did not get lost after all! And bearing gifts, too. Our blessings this day continue, it would seem.” Glorfindel approached now with a tray that promised further treats.

Glorfindel chuckled and shook his head.  The bud of the rose was tucked over one ear.  “You thought I got lost?  Really?  I will have you know, someone made a terrible mess in the kitchen - no idea who - so I cleaned it up before someone slipped.  Then I thought, I am a little hungry.  So…”  Glorfindel set the tray down on the table.  He had a basket, too, which he set down, and the towels, and finally a blanket, which he spread out near the edge of the water.  “Rhubarb licorice and truffles, freshly made early this morning.  Dried apples and pears, and some hard cheese that smelled delightful.  And…”  He pulled a trio of glasses and a bottle from the basket.  “...champagne.”  He began to work on the cork once the glasses were set down.  “I am thankful for the person who stocked this place before they abandoned it.  The wine cellar here is incredible.”

“I love you,” Fingon said weakly, only now recalling the disaster that his bonding with Erestor left in their wake. He blinked a few times. “I just realized I owe my present happiness to a vegetable I had never heard of this time yesterday. What am I to do with that?”

“Maybe never eat it raw again,” advised Glorfindel as he carefully managed to bring all three glasses of champagne to the edge.  He slowly knelt down on the blanket so that he could hand a glass to Fingon and then another to Erestor.

Erestor wrinkled his nose at Glorfindel’s words.  “Again suggests there was a first time,” worried Erestor as he took his glass of champagne.

Fingon immediately seemed extremely sheepish. “I believed it was celery. You grow many varieties of so many things and I just… I was hungry and bit into it. I learned my error quickly. And… I might have insulted the rhubarb a little. But that was before Glorfindel explained to me.” He looked up at his mate, now more than a little worried that the entire story might offend him.

But Erestor only smiled, and his eyes lit up as, inadvertently, the entire story was retold in Fingon’s head as he recalled what Glorfindel shared with him.  “How sweet of you to put all of this effort in.  I admit, I only recall those incidents because you bring them up.  I found the rhubarb hiding under some raspberry brambles, and I transplanted it with the hope it might find more favorable conditions.  It flourished, and… well, I have a rhubarb plant to thank for my current good fortune,” reasoned Erestor.

“To the rhubarb,” said Glorfindel as he lowered his glass with the intention of clinking glasses with the other two.

“To the rhubarb,” Fingon agreed, wondering if that was the strangest thing he had uttered this month. Erestor laughed, and he grinned in return before sipping his champagne. “This is very nice, Fin. And in my hopeless state of limerence, I have failed to thank you for your loving support of our binding. Our time will come. I know it will.” The hazel eyes looked up into nearby blue-green ones with full sincerity.

“In that case,” said Glorfindel as he leaned down again to clink his glass against the one Fingon held, “to my future husband.”  He winked and then tapped his glass against Erestor’s as well before he drank again.  “Oh, darn, I left the tray in the wrong spot… I will be right back.”  Glorfindel balanced the glass on the grass, and then retrieved the tray of candy and other morsels.  He set this on the grass, too, and then maneuvered himself so that he was on his belly atop the blanket.  “These truffles look so good,” he said as he picked one up.  He stretched his arm out and presented it to Erestor, who smiled and took it between his lips.  After eating the delicate chocolate, Erestor smiled, kissed at Glorfindel’s fingertips before they were withdrawn, and then turned his head to kiss Fingon.  Glorfindel, meanwhile, picked up another truffle.  This one he held out to Fingon.

“Mmmmm. They do more than look good; not that I wish to be seen as bragging,” he opined, easily imitating Erestor’s actions and lingering over the bestowal of affection on Glorfindel’s hand, which smelled amazingly of syrup and fruit and quick breads and...wonderful scents of delectable dainties.  “Do you like them, sweetheart?” he asked Erestor.

“They are very good.  I never imagined that someone could make so many delicious things from rhubarb in such a short time.  I just thought you might make a pie,” Erestor said with light laughter.  “Rhubarb pie is actually the only thing I have ever tasted it in.  You both did a fantastic job,” he complimented.

“Mostly it was Fingon,” redirected Glorfindel.  “He came up with most of the ideas.  I just helped.”

“You did more than help,” Fingon praised. “You were encouragement and cheer and you brought wonderful ideas full of kindness. And seduction, apparently,” he laughed. “And here I thought myself immune to such diversions. Apparently not. Though, I promise you it will not require covering yourself in food when it is our turn. Unless, that is, you truly wish to.”

“Maybe not completely covered…”  Glorfindel smiled wickedly.  

“You probably noticed he gave little resistance to the idea,” spoke Erestor.  “Or, maybe that part was your idea,” he said, comment directed to Glorfindel.  Glorfindel’s smile only widened.  “Peaches… orange marmalade… chocolate, both milk and dark… whipped cream, multiple times… and once there was a thing with a jar of sardines, but he just used the oil as lubricant.”

“I have a fascination for incorporating edible items into sexual encounters,” explained Glorfindel.  “It just happens.”

“Typically, with a lot of pre-planning,” Erestor added.

Glorfindel stuck out his tongue and offered another truffle to Erestor.  “You never complained.  Also, for the record, the sardines did not go to waste.  I ate them afterwards.”

“There were sardines?” Fingon asked helplessly.

“Well, not recently,” Glorfindel noted with complete seriousness. “Why, did you want there to be?”

“Um… well I… perhaps when I am a bit more reconciled to the overall concept,” Fingon flailed, looking to Erestor for rescue.

“Sardines last happened on the other side of the sea,” confirmed Erestor.  “We had to get creative in Rivendell in those final years.  Trade was scarce - we were not even on some maps anymore near the end.”

“And we had a LOT of sardines,” Glorfindel added.

Erestor groaned.  “You make it sound like a regular occurance.”

Glorfindel shrugged one shoulder and held out another truffle to Fingon.  “It happened once, maybe twice a week whenever we were in Rivendell alone.  Not always with the sardines,” he quickly amended.  “Just food experiments.  For science.”

“It was not that often.  Was it?” questioned Erestor.

“What else was there for us to do in Rivendell at that point?  You already packed up the library, we were the only inhabitants, and sometimes it was cold there even in the summer.”  Glorfindel sighed and then smiled.  “Honestly, though, I cannot think of anyone I would rather have spent that time with.”

Listening to this odd banter (which was assuredly stranger yet than having raised a glass to rhubarb) caused Fingon to feel… as if sunshine was now inside of him. He had previously spent his time with those who did not truly care for him, for the most part. Or alone, hermitted away with his cats. Only now did that phrase resonate--he now had something for which he had always hoped, but found to be elusive.  Then another notion occurred to him as they spoke of Rivendell. “There are times I wonder if I would have liked it there. On the other side, as you say. I sort of… missed all that.”

“You spent most of the First Age there,” said Glorfindel.  

“Fighting dragons, cleaning up everyone else’s messes, and being a hero when… people wanted someone else,” said Erestor, pulling from Fingon’s thoughts some of his would-be replies.

“You might as well share all of it,” Fingon resignedly said.  “I was a terrible Prince and a shitty King who fought dragons, cleaned up other people's’ messes, and was the queer hero no one wanted to admit could do the things they were too afraid to do because it put their manhoods in question.  The First Age was a shitstorm of massive proportion.  I had no desire to be there and no vested interest in the rise or fall of the Noldorin empire.  I was stuck there as penance for being a moron with a sword on a beach I should have stayed away from.”  He took a breath and added, “What I really meant was it would have been nice to be over there in the Third Age.  Instead I got to be here.  And I was still a terrible Prince.  Still am.”

Erestor shook his head and nuzzled Fingon’s neck.  “You are too harsh on yourself.  However, I do agree that it would have been lovely to have you in Rivendell with us.”

“I will drink to that.” added Glorfindel just before he took a sip.

Fingon returned his attention to Erestor, moisture forming in his eyes again as his mood shifted abruptly. A trembling hand reached to cup his lover’s cheek. “I have never in all my two lives felt as I do at this moment. I know that the emotions are because we have just bound ourselves to each other, and that time will pass and the intensity will fade. That difficulties will come. But I promise you that in those times I will remember this, and never take us for granted. Right now I am drowning in you, Eressë.” He sealed his words with a kiss as tears fell, next burying his face in the curve of Erestor’s neck.

Glorfindel and Erestor’s eyes met in a moment of shared understanding, while Glorfindel reached to place a comforting hand on Fingon’s shoulder.  “I think, perhaps, we should finish washing up so that we can return to the house.”  Although Glorfindel had scrubbed up while cleaning the kitchen, it was only to remove the remainder of their food and the reminder of their actions.  He now slipped down into the water with them and joined in the water cuddle.  

At present, Fingon had no need to voice his thoughts to Erestor.  Unlike Erestor’s bond with Glorfindel, where both parties were experienced farspeakers who could, as needed or wanted, be selective with their exchanges, Fingon was completely open to Erestor, and it was both refreshing and humbling.  Fingon could well have panicked or demanded to be taught how to block Erestor, or even told Erestor to stay out of his head.  Instead, he had accepted it with curiosity, and while Fingon was quite literally the most honest person that Erestor knew, the access he had now was almost overwhelming, and as Erestor pulled Fingon closer to him his own tears caused ripples in the water.  “And just think - we still have the wedding to look forward to.”

Sniffling a little, a hesitant smile shadowed over FIngon’s lips, but still all he could manage was a small nod and to cling tightly to Erestor, until he sensed that Glorfindel had ceased his ablutions. Then his arm reached out to invite his golden love into his embrace.

Glorfindel kept one arm around each of his lovers and smiled.  “The wedding is going to be fun, but I hardly need that to know how devoted we are to each other.  What I was witness to, though, was absolutely beautiful.  If I was not so fortunate to be a part of this union, I would probably be a little jealous.”  He nuzzled and kissed both of them.  “I know I promised breakfast was going to be in bed, but perhaps I can make it up by serving a little luncheon up there for the three of us.  The two of you could snuggle up there while I prepare it.”

“That sounds like a lovely way to spend an afternoon off.”  Erestor ran a hand over Fingon’s hair.  “What do you think of that?”

“Please?” Fingon finally managed. “I really will get a hold of myself at some point,” he whispered. “It just does not appear to be happening right this minute.”

“Sweetheart, this is a very unexpected transition,” crooned Erestor.  “Just think - two days ago, we had quite the row over the reference section.  We were so bad--”

“--I shoved you into the office and closed the door,” recalled Fingon for Glorfindel’s benefit.  Fingon kept his head rested upon Erestor’s shoulder, but shifted so that he could speak to Glorfindel.  “He was rather upset when I informed him I was doing away with the reference area.  When he found out I was having the volumes integrated into the circulating collection, he… was unhappy.”

“I threw a book at him,” admitted Erestor.  “A very small book, and I aimed so that it hit the wall.”

“Oh my,” said Glorfindel.  “So the day off… that was…”

“He suspended me for a day and told me if I did something like that again he would fire my ass,” recounted Erestor.

“You threw a book at me,” pointed out Fingon as if it was not already common knowledge, and nipped at Erestor’s ear.  “Good thing you have terrible aim.”

“I missed purposely,” mumbled Erestor.

“I seem to recall a few tussles between us,” said Glorfindel as he reached out to rub the back of Erestor’s neck.  “Maybe this was part of Eru’s plan all along.”

“How is that?” wondered Erestor.

“Easier to tame a temper with two instead of one,” Glorfindel suggested, and Erestor huffed a little.  “I will say, hearing of a tantrum that I was not a party to is quite refreshing.  At least I know it is not just me.”

Erestor huffed again, but said nothing in reply.

“I hope you know that I love you. And if I did fire your ass it would be out of that same love, though it would hurt me to do it. Fin is… not wrong, cupcake. Please do not be… I think what I am trying to say is, sometimes none of us see ourselves as clearly as those who love us. I am not exempt from needing help from time to time. No one is.”

“But… the reference section,” whined Erestor softly once he was sure Fingon was done.  “How can you have a library without a reference section?”

“Uh, if I may?” interrupted Glorfindel in an attempt to keep what should have been a beautiful, relaxing encounter from going sour.  “Darling, do you remember that book you copied for me in Gondolin?”  Erestor shifted narrowed eyes at Glorfindel.  “The one you stole from Turgon’s library?”  Erestor frowned.  “Remind me, baby, which section was that in?”

“The fucking reference section,” came the tight-lipped reply.

“Uh-huh.  It would have been nice if Turgon had been able to employ his forward-thinking brother as his librarian so that I could have checked it out.  It would have saved you the trouble of stealing it,” said Glorfindel sweetly.  “Now, is it really worth making such an unprofessional display at work?  You had a chance to take the head librarian position, but you agreed that what you do gives you the freedom to tend to the garden and the orchard without the stress of management, and yet you still get to utilize your skills.  So… let Fingon run his library, maybe?”

Erestor rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he conceded, his usual sourness under disturbance. As much as he wanted to withdraw into his shell of stubbornness, his mind was under virtual bombardment from Fingon, who without pretense was radiating a plea for harmony between them. The psychic pressure was powerful… and something to which he had never been exposed in anything like this circumstance.

“Good boy,” said Glorfindel, and he patted Erestor’s head.

“Help me out of the pool?” Fingon asked Glorfindel, still feeling terribly unsteady. “Probably Erestor too?” He looked at his mate, who appeared close to as gelatinous as he felt. “If I stay in much longer I may dissolve.”

“We should really build a sort of ladder in here,” Glorfindel realized.  He aided Fingon in leaving the pool, and wrapped him in a fluffy towel before settling him on one of the mushroom stools so that he could turn his attention to assisting Erestor out as well.  Once both Erestor and Fingon were dried off, hair combed and rebraided, he gave each a kiss before he whistled his way back to the house with the basket and other items he had brought out earlier, lest any ants invite themselves to the impromptu celebration.

“Sorry about my behavior at the library,” said Erestor quietly once they were alone.  “My excuse that day of it not being so terrible because I did it when everyone else was on lunch was… not appropriate.  I am sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Fingon replied, tilting his head. “The apology would be accepted even more if you would agree to snuggle with me on the hammock. There is a blanket there already that cries out for snuggling. Then we could talk a little more about it. Though I now suspect you already know what I would like to ask you, if you think you could tell me. I am somewhat at a disadvantage, now.” His smile twisted somewhat, but the words were spoken from a place of humility, and concern.

“Mmm… talking more.  I tend to prefer moving on to another subject as quickly as possible.”  Erestor wrinkled his nose, but he headed to the hammock and climbed in anyhow, then situated himself so that Fingon could join him for snuggling.

“As you wish,” Fingon answered, making an effort to keep his tone of voice neutral. That he received an avoidant response disappointed him more than a little, but he willingly accepted Erestor’s right to choose this and forced himself to let it go. “Hold me?” Already he was tugging the blanket over them, and nudging this way and that to find how best their bodies might rest together comfortably.

This was an easier request to fulfill, and Erestor drew Fingon closer.  He nuzzled at the curve where neck and shoulder met, and kissed behind Fingon’s ear.  “What do you want to ask me?” he finally whispered into Fingon’s ear.

Fingon blinked, surprised. “You do not have to answer if you do not wish to,” came the slow and careful preamble. “But I wondered if you… what you did in the library, I wondered what you thought or felt at the time that caused you to become so angry. It was the first time I really experienced that frustration directed at me.  I would like to understand, if you will allow it.”

For an entire minute, Erestor was silent.  He stroked Fingon’s cheek, but said nothing.  As he began to feel the uncertainty in Fingon’s mind, he attempted the best explanation he could.  “I… do not accept change well.  I can handle little changes, but I will likely grumble about them.  Changes that come with unknown consequences or too many changes at once seem to…” He fought to find the right words.  “Unnerve me.  And I get defensive very quickly.  Before I know it, I just feel angry.  I yell, I throw things, I put my fist through a wall once.  It was not always this way - I still hated change, but I could be calm about it, and I attacked with words.  The trouble is, my words get me into a lot of trouble.  Somehow… throwing a fit just gets everything out, and most people are so shocked they just back away.  It seems completely stupid, but since I started ranting and raving instead of making attempts to logically offer a rebuttal, I have yet to end up in jail for it, or suffer consequences greater than avoidance from family and friends until they deem enough time has passed for us to socialize again, and no one speaks of it.  Maybe they think I am mad,” he mused.  “Maybe I am.”

“You are not mad,” Fingon murmured, stroking his cheek. “But if you wanted to learn, there are ways to cope that are different from either option you just mentioned. I hesitate to dwell on this, and I thank you for opening to me. Mostly I want to acknowledge that this is a special day and I do not want my questions to… I think I am going to shut up now. You are beautiful, Erestor. And I wish you would kiss me.”

“Your wish is my command, your majesty.”  Erestor turned his head to the side and leaned in to press his lips to Fingon’s, bestowing a handful of kisses to his beloved before he eased back again and sighed.  “I was a fucking idiot for what I did the other day,” he continued.  “I should not have been that worked up - I think sometimes I self-sabotage.  Everything has been going so well for us.  And then right before you told me about the reference books - which is actually a pretty good idea - I was cataloguing some books of marriage rituals and vows, and I got thinking about next June, and that led to thinking about your grandmother, and before I knew it I had myself all worked up about not being good enough for you.  I mean, at least Glorfindel comes from a noble family.  All I can ever be is…”  Erestor only now realized he was crying again, and he wiped his eyes before he finished.  “...just a farmer.”

Stunned to his core, Fingon’s lips parted. Utter disbelief swirled through all of his now fragmented thoughts. ‘Not good enough?’ It was barely possible to try to form a linear response out of the jumble that now surged through his mind. Closing his eyes, he recalled how he had prayed to Eru, when it seemed Erestor might never awaken. When he begged their Father for the chance to care for one of his most magnificent creations. That this same being, so precious in his eyes, saw himself as inadequate when it was he himself who could not hope to be worthy of the honor now bestowed on him… involuntarily, a racking sob tore through him as he held onto Erestor with all his strength. This felt like too great a sorrow.

“Oh, sweetheart… oh, no, you are so far above me.  Even upon the wings of an Eagle, I never thought I could reach you.” Erestor sniffled through his reply, brought on by the connection to Fingon’s thoughts and raw emotions.  He shook as he clung to Fingon.  “Ah, what fools we are to think this way.  To deny that sometimes our dreams can come true, and that we are deserving of them.”

It took some minutes for Fingon to quiet himself, and more minutes after before he could speak. “I would like to make a proposal,” he said in a voice that still broke and cracked in places, tinged with sadness. “I will not call myself a ‘shitty Prince’ if you agree to never again refer to yourself as ‘just a farmer.’ Could we agree to try that much?” A rather adorable sniffle followed the question.

Erestor took one of Fingon’s hands in his.  He licked his lips following a shaky breath and brought Fingon’s hand to his lips.  “You are my valiant king,” he said, and he kissed Fingon’s hand.  “And you are wise,” he added before he kissed the fingers again, “and caring,” he whispered between kisses, “and I love you.  And I will try not to speak the things that come from the mouths of others about me, unless it be whatever kind and beautiful things you - or Glorfindel - think to say.  Or something else nice someone says… I… I think you know what I am trying to say…” he trailed off, then kissed Fingon’s hand again.

The pressure from Erestor’s hand was returned. “I do,” Fingon answered with an equal tremor in his voice. “So you will understand that you are my dark beauty, blessed to be partly of the Ainur and something I never can truly comprehend, for I am only an Elf. And to me you are exquisite, rare, and without price. I think this will not be easy for either of us, and I, too, will try. If I fail, I will try again. I cannot do this for myself, but I can do it for you.” Closing his eyes, he fervently kissed Erestor’s fingers. Almost he was having a little trouble discerning where his hand ended and Erestor’s began. A profound sense of being hollowed out, emotionally exhausted, crept over him. Only the inviting warmth of his mate seemed capable of focusing his attention just now, and even that waned.

The desire to sleep was not hard for Erestor to read from Fingon’s mind, for it weighed heavily on his own as well.  He tucked the blanket around them and pulled Fingon even closer, draping one leg around and over Fingon’s hip.  While the breeze was cool, there was still sunlight, and the blanket created a nice cocoon for them to share the warmth.  Erestor ghosted an ‘I love you’ over Fingon’s cheek as he kissed it, then dozed off rather contented for the moment in his lover’s arms.

Their nap was interrupted only when Glorfindel came to retrieve them for lunch, which was indeed served in bed.  There were many bite-sized treats to nibble on and feed each other, though the star of the show was baked bread with roasted vegetables on it.  “Fin made this for me in Rivendell,” explained Erestor as he held it up for Fingon to try, and he did not need to elaborate on what the occasion had been, for the loving look in Glorfindel’s eyes spoke volumes.  

“Mmm… this is delicious,” declared Fingon before he took another bite.  “Do I get to have the recipe?” he asked with his mouth still full.

“Normally, I do not share my culinary secrets, but for you I will make an exception,” said Glorfindel with a wink as he took a piece of the bread from the tray.

“And the first secret is, keep Erestor out of the kitchen,” said Erestor.

Fingon chuckled and kissed the side of Erestor’s neck.  “I kind of liked having you in the kitchen today.”

“Perhaps he can just be the official taste-tester,” Glorfindel suggested with a grin.

The playful banter continued as they finished their meal.  As anticipated, the bed was now peppered with crumbs, and Fingon insisted, quite politely yet firmly, that the bedding had to be changed before he could possibly recline.  It did not take long to fit the bed with clean sheets and warm, soft throws, sky-blue and cream-colored.  Pillows were fluffed and the shades were drawn so that the room had only a soft glow from the sunlight that peeked in at the corners and edges of the windows.  Clothing seemed unnecessary, and soon all three were cuddling together in the warmth of the fluffy bed.

“Did either of you sleep at all last night?” asked Erestor.

“Not really,” admitted Fingon, “but it was well worth it.”

“I fell asleep on the couch for about an hour while he finished dusting and decorating his truffles,” Glorfindel said.  

“I will not keep either of you up, then,” said Erestor.  He turned onto his stomach and wrapped his arms around a pillow.

The abrupt end to the conversation caused Fingon and Glorfindel to exchange concerned looks.  Fingon set his hand gently upon Erestor’s shoulder.  “Was there something you wanted to talk about, honey?”

“I am really not that tired,” piped up Glorfindel.  

“Honey?”  Fingon rubbed his hand in circles over Erestor’s back, and realized something was a little off.  Erestor was crying, and he intended to know why.  “What is wrong, darling?”

There was a little sniffle and Erestor shifted and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes.  “Nothing.   For once, everything seems like it should be.  I just… never expected this.  Not after...”  He took a deep, shaky breath.  “I am going to ruin the day if I say anything else.  Sorry.  Never mind.”

“You do not really think I am going to just ignore that, do you, cupcake? Nothing you have to say could ever ruin my day. And unless I am sorely mistaken, you are ticklish. No ‘never mind.’ That went out the window this morning at the edge of the breakfast table.” The words were gentle but brooked no opposition; the challenge was clear and earned a raised eyebrow from Glorfindel.

“You told him,” accused Erestor after another sniffle as he looked the other way at Glorfindel.

Glorfindel pressed his lips together, eyes wide but cast toward the ceiling. “It may have slipped - but honestly, he would have found out.  However, if you are about to use this to change the topic, I remind you that there are two of us and one of you.”  He shifted and snuggled closer to Erestor, glad that their usual arrangement was to have Erestor in the middle so that he could not slip away now that something which had obviously plagued his mind was so close to being revealed.  “Now, you said you never expected this.  We can start there.  What was unexpected?”  He set his hand upon Erestor’s back and rubbed comfortingly, just below where Fingon’s hand was.

“You know.  This.”  Erestor took a deep breath.  “The three of us being together.”

“But this is nice, right?”  Glorfindel waited until Erestor nodded.  “And today has been very nice.”  He kept rubbing Erestor’s back.  “Is it because others might think it wrong?  I think most of our friends are very understanding.”  Glorfindel expected another nod, but instead was confronted with Erestor bursting into tears and burying his face into his pillow.  He looked up at Fingon with concern.

Fingon placed his hand over Erestor’s head, and began to methodically stroke his hair,  smoothing the glossy locks, even occasionally carding his fingers into the scalp a little, minding the braids. When only tears were still forthcoming some minutes later, he decided to speak to his mate again. “Nothing you could tell me could turn me from you, Erestor. I give my word, which I do not do lightly. Let this go, sweetheart. Whatever this burden is that causes you such sorrow, just… please, trust us. Or is it my turn now to beg?” he asked softly.

Erestor trembled, his fingers still clawed into the pillow.  How long had he kept the memories bottled up?  How many millenia had he suffered?  He felt the shame and fear that those memories produced, and he shut his eyes.  It was easier in the dark.  He could pretend he was alone, even though he knew that neither Fingon nor Glorfindel would judge him - in fact, he knew them to be his greatest allies.  Even so, to say the words, to hear them, it was admittance that he knew he had been living lies for most of his life.  “Because I was made to think it was wrong,” he sobbed.  “And because I actually believed it.”

Fingon continued his soothing, but now sought Glorfindel’s eyes in a search for understanding. This was an answer and yet he was no more enlightened than before it was spoken. The frown on the blond’s face told him that Glorfindel was just as unknowing of what was meant. Much as he hated to do this, little choice remained but to press on. “Everything will be alright, my love. You are safe here. Safe with us. I can understand that something happened to you, but little more. Please, Erestor. Tell me what it was. How were you made to think it was wrong? What does that mean? I am so sorry for the pain,” he said as soothingly as he knew how. “We will move past it together.” Leaning down again, he kissed the dark head many times, his heart breaking in pity. This really made no sense, which meant he was unaware of something rather… important.

A life as long as Erestor’s came with access to an immense vocabulary.  Even with so many words to choose from, he could not come up with what he needed to explain without retelling every detail.  And so he settled on something he felt would allow far more clarity, and he thought back to his fourth week at the clinic.  He opened his mind to both of them, and he saw the room he was taken to - a dark place, with plain walls painted black, and a single chair.  Up to that point, he had been in general areas of the facility - beautiful, comfortable places.  The places he had seen with his parents when they toured the facility.  There were small, plush rooms where discussion groups were held, walks in the meticulously trimmed gardens, meals with other patients in a round room with windows overlooking a river… and there was Millaldo.  For a moment, his memory lingered on Millaldo, a Vanya just a few years younger than he was.  Millaldo’s story was similar to Erestor’s tale - a broken heart, a thought that there was a cure for the ‘illness’ they suffered.  

Erestor’s thoughts wandered back further, for the story really did not start there.  It started the first time he suffered heartache.  When Fëanor made it clear that he intended to marry Nerdanel, Erestor had held out hope.  Hope that he could still maintain a friendship, and even spend significant time with Fëanor.  They gave it a few years, and then Erestor moved in.  He tutored all of Fëanor’s sons, and joined the family at meals and on holiday and in every aspect of daily life.  While he had his room in the house, it was above the floor where the rest of the family slept - but that did not stop Erestor’s imagination.  In his dreams, his romance with Fëanor had never ended.  He pretended that he schooled the children not because he was paid to do so, but because he was helping to raise them.  

Then came a night when Erestor allowed his fantasies to go too far.  It was after supper, and the boys were all in bed or reading or in the case of Celegorm, sulking in the woods nearby.  Nerdanel was painting a piece of pottery while Fëanor sat at the other side of the same table, working through a ledger and grumbling about someone he had extended credit to.  Erestor, who had offered to wash the dishes, now came into the dining room and looked over Fëanor’s shoulder.  That was not unusual.  He placed his hands upon Fëanor’s tired shoulders and massaged away the stress.  This, again, was not unusual.  They made some jokes about the business, and about the person who was behind in payment, and laughed, and Nerdanel laughed, and Erestor gave Fëanor’s shoulders a squeeze and kissed the top of his head.  Even this was not completely unheard of, but it was the odd look that Nerdanel had on her face when Erestor raised his head.  And he might have been able to play it off had he given her a strange look back, or frowned or made a joke, but he simply stood still, and scared, and for far too long, for then Fëanor asked if something was the matter.  And Erestor slid his hands away and excused himself to go to his room and pace and fret.

He did not sleep that night.  Instead, he wrote two letters  - one to Nerdanel, and one to Fëanor.  He read them over and over, and as the silver light changed to gold, he burned them with one of the candles on the desk.  And he waited, expecting someone to knock on the door, though he did not know who.  The hours crept on, and when it seemed midday, Erestor emerged.  The house was quiet, and as he made his way down to the main level, he found it all too quiet for such a large family.  

The house was not empty, however.  He found the single current occupant at the table in the dining room, and it was as if he had never left the spot.  Fëanor only looked up briefly, and there was no greeting, no friendly acknowledgment.  “Nerdanel and I decided that it would be in everyone’s best interest if you left.”  Fëanor took a deep breath, and it nearly seemed he was going to apologize, but he set his jaw.

Erestor stood silently for a moment.  Then he said, “I will pack my things and be gone before supper.  When do you want me to return to continue with the children's studies?”

“We will see to it that you are given your severance before you leave.”

Being told to leave the house was almost expected; loss of his position was not.  “You are dismissing me?  Who will teach the boys?”

Fëanor cleared his throat.  “More than half of them are grown men, and I am sure we can have the governess see to things until we hire another house scholar.  This is the best decision,” he said firmly.  “Time apart will help you see that whatever you had in your head is folly.  These thoughts are unnatural.  You need to spend time away from us to see that.”

Erestor almost censored his memories, almost substituted words, but that would benefit no one.  He continued to relive the events that unfolded so long ago.  “How is it wrong?” Erestor suddenly demanded.  “Dammit, I love you!  You let Maitimo and Findekáno--”

Fëanor slammed his fist onto the table.  “Listen to yourself!  How can you compare this to them?  The Valar forbid what you want.  They took my father to trial for it!  I love my wife, Eressë.  And I love you, too, but not like that.  Not as you want me to.”

Erestor tried to collect his thoughts and come up with a logical argument.  Instead, what came out was pitiful begging.  “Please, just let me stay and see to the children.  Makalaurë and Carnistir do so much better under my direction - and I promise to stay in my room the rest of the time, and never to bother you.  I can take meals up there as well.  You would never notice me at all.  I can--”

“Eressë.”  Fëanor looked up again and shook his head.  “You need to go.  You have an hour to get your things.  I will have the rest sent to you.”  And before Erestor could say more, Fëanor stood up and left the room.

Reality, the present moment, hit hard as Erestor remembered that he was not alone, that he had opened his mind to his lovers, one of whom was not familiar with this sort of contact, and at once Erestor shut himself off again.  He could feel the pillow with its very damp outer casing, and the knot in his throat from crying for so long.  Despite being in the center of the bed and flanked very closely by Fingon and Glorfindel, Erestor felt cold.  He shivered and squeezed the pillow tighter.  He did not hear anything from either, and so, thinking he had likely upset them, he choked out an apology.  “I am sorry… it was such a good day… I ruin everything…”

Glorfindel took a deep breath and let it out slowly, tears stinging his own eyes.  He still had a hand on Erestor’s back, and he leaned down to kiss his brow.  “Why are you sorry?  You did nothing wrong, sweetheart.  Nothing is ruined.  We love you.”  When he rose up again, he said quietly to Fingon, “I had no idea it was this bad.”

“Nor did I,” Fingon whispered, lifting Erestor into his arms and miming for Glorfindel to bring a cup of water. “Come here to me, dearest.” As though Erestor was a sack of flour, he raised him bodily. In a moment of tucking limbs and rearranging positions Fingon had him bundled into his lap whilst he leaned up against their headboard and drew coverings over both their legs. Fingon twisted his own limbs around to provide the most warmth possible to his mate, and tugged an extra blanket up in which to wrap him, feeling the chill on his skin. For some moments he rocked him gently in his arms, a slow swaying back and forth. Glorfindel was able to coax Erestor to sip water until he shook his dark head, refusing any more. 

“Sweetheart, you need to keep on. You have nothing to feel sorry for; there is nothing you can ruin. This is like a… like an infection, that needs draining. Let us be rid of it. You are brave, and strong, to share these things. Please, I want to know more. If it happened to you, it matters to me. It matters to Fin. We love you so much…” Fingon stopped himself from speaking more, hearing the tremulousness in his final words. It would do his lover little good, to fall apart himself right now. He could save that particular indulgence for later on; right now an opportunity existed that might never come again.

Being held by Fingon was far more comforting than clinging to the pillow, and Erestor closed his eyes again, focusing for a moment on the love that radiated from his lovers.  Tears came to his eyes again, but instead of the raw sobs, his misery was subdued.  He was already drained after reliving the moment he lost all hope of being with Fëanor.  Already, he was drifting back in his mind to the clinic, and slowly he opened his mind again.  He was at the clinic, and this time, he could feel Fingon and Glorfindel watching scenes unfold with him.  The first day he walked through the doors as a patient, he actually felt calm.  He already knew some of the staff; they had been students with him at Sarati.  The clinic was highly regarded for its successes.  It was supposed to be his sanctuary.  

The first day was a little overwhelming, but during the orientation, there had been Millaldo.  They were assigned to the same sleeping quarters.  There were four to a room, and Erestor offered Millaldo his choice of the two empty beds.  For the next few weeks, they were practically inseparable, sitting with each other at meals and choosing to attend the same learning sessions together.  They took walks in the garden when they had time, and everything seemed alright.  There was peace and companionship.  And then, one night in the garden, they sat down on a bench and talked about everything and nothing, and just as it was closing in on curfew, and as Erestor was talking about something from the dream journaling they were required to do, he felt something brush his hand.

He looked down, and saw Millaldo’s fingers on his hand.  He looked up, and his eyes met Millaldo’s gaze.  Millaldo lifted a brow, and Erestor turned his hand slowly so that his palm faced up.  Millaldo smiled and pressed his palm to Erestor’s.  Erestor smiled back shyly.  They sat in the garden, side by side, holding hands until the bell alerted them that they had ten minutes to be in their room for bed.  They hurried back and made it into their beds before the nightly count, and then lights were put out.

For some time, Erestor remained in darkness, unable to sleep.  An hour passed, perhaps even two - and then there was something touching his arm.  He brushed it away, thinking it was a rodent despite not seeing signs of uncleanliness in the clinic.  He frozen when he heard Millaldo whisper, “It is me.”

There was barely any light in the room, but from what Erestor could see, it appeared the other two occupants of the room were asleep.  Millaldo was crouched beside Erestor’s bed, and while he had not given any specific indication of his expectations, Erestor lifted up the edge of the blanket.  He caught sight of Millaldo’s smile in the darkness, and soon the pair was snuggled together under the single blanket.  Very few words were said, but Millaldo managed to convey that he felt the clinic was not for him, and he did not think it was for Erestor, either.  He had plans to leave - plans that he hoped would include Erestor.  Erestor recalled his hesitation, but finally, agreement.  Before the monitor came to wake everyone, Millaldo climbed out of the bed and went to his own.

The next day, they ate breakfast together.  Neither had managed significant sleep, but they were both excited about the plans they secretly made at the table where they chose to sit alone that morning.  Perhaps if they had been more awake they would have been more aware and realized that their food tasted off.  It was not until they were at the first discussion group that Erestor had any idea something was wrong.  He was having a hard time focusing, and a few chairs away, Millaldo kept nearly nodding off.  When Millaldo suddenly swooned and fell out of his chair, Erestor tried to reach him, but his legs were weak and he slid to the floor.

The healer leading the session did not seem surprised.  She kept talking, and went to the door, where she called down the hallway.  Two other healers entered the room and lifted Millaldo up to carry him out.  When Erestor tried to protest, one of the healers said rather matter-of-factly, “Do not fret - we will be back for you soon.”

When he next opened his eyes, it was with a groan and a dry mouth.  He was not in the familiar part of the clinic, with its blue and white walls, large windows, and plush furniture.  He was seated on a metal chair upholstered with leather.  There were leather straps securing his limbs to the frame of the chair.  The chair itself was bolted to the floor.

“I heard you had a busy night.”

Erestor blinked and turned his head in the direction of the voice.  It was Hyammo, a healer his own age, and someone he knew from Sarati.  Erestor said nothing in return.

Hyammo slowly pulled a pair of thick black leather gloves over his hands, a distinct contrast to the flowing white robe everyone who worked and lived at the clinic wore.  That was when Erestor finally noticed his own robes and everything he had on underneath them had been removed.  “I thought you came here to be healed.” 

“I did,” replied Erestor.

“Good.”  Hyammo adjusted his gloves.  “I am glad to hear that.”  Hyammo walked to a table at the far end of the room.  There was a wooden box there, and he opened it.  From the box, he took a smooth, carved stone before he walked back to Erestor.  “Do you remember what this is?”

There was no way Erestor would not recognize a rune-stone.  These were created by Fëanor, and something that Erestor was very familiar with.  When most of the students at Sarati found out about Erestor’s preferences, he was shunned and bullied by them.  The very first rune-stone that Fëanor created allowed Erestor to harness the power of water as a way to combat against the cruelty of their peers - including Hyammo.  This was not a water stone, though.  Erestor’s breath hitched.  “How could I forget?”

“I suppose no one has ever used one of these on you before.  They are… very effective,” said Hyammo.  He motioned with his hand, and two other assistants whom Erestor had not noticed came forward now.  One was carrying a wide, low basin of water.  They stooped down in front of the chair, and Erestor tried to pull his legs under the chair and away from them, but the restraints made that impossible.  “Now, we prefer to use more conventional methods, but when those fail, well, that was why you signed the contract when you joined us here.  Sometimes, all we have left are drastic measures.”  As Hyammo spoke, the assistants managed to reposition Erestor’s feet so that they were in the basin, water up to his ankles.  

“You hardly gave me a chance,” pleaded Erestor.  “You set me up for failure,” he tried when the assistants walked behind him and he heard them leave the room.  “Let me try again.  I will do better next time.”

Hyammo had his back to Erestor, and he rocked on his heels.  “There is a rumor you intended to leave.  To run away.”  He looked over his shoulder for confirmation.  Erestor did not answer.  “We have seen this before.  Someone leaves, they think they are happy, but then they return, and we need to start all over again.  So.  Let us be efficient about this.”  Hyammo walked to the far wall, in sight of Erestor.  “How have you been doing in your mindful suppression of inferior thoughts workshops?”

Thinking it was a chance to avoid whatever Hyammo had in mind, Erestor stretched the truth.  “Very well.  I hardly think about… any of it.  Last night was just a minor set-back.”

“Ah.  We shall see.”  Hyammo pulled a cord hanging from the ceiling, and a curtain lifted.  The wall was covered with paintings, all of them featuring pairs of men, kissing and embracing and making love.  One of the paintings was a little different, and Erestor’s eyes were drawn to it.  This one showed a trio, quite close, and little left to the imagination.  “Hmm.  I would disagree with your assessment,” said Hyammo.

Erestor looked down briefly, his firm erection unable to be hidden.  He looked back up at Hyammo and shook his head.  “Please.  Just give me another chance.  I just need more time in the classes.”

“We will get you back to the classes,” Hyammo assured him.  “We just need to guide you a little,” he said as he came closer.

“No!  Wait.  The… the water did it.  It is really cold, and--”

“Well, if that is the issue, worry not.  It will not be cold for long,” Hyammo said.  “What do you know about the science of lightning?”  Erestor only shook, his eyes on the stone in Hyammo’s hand.  “You will know soon,” he said as he disappeared behind Erestor.  A moment later, something passed over Erestor’s vision, and he tried to fight off the wooden bit that Hyammo pressed at his lips.  “Trust me.  You want this.  No need to chance biting your tongue off.”  Hyammo secured the mouthpiece behind Erestor’s head once it was between Erestor’s teeth.  “Now - try not to pass out.  I would hate to have to start over again.”

The initial burst of electricity seemed like more of a test to see that the rune-stone was working and the water was conducting and that Erestor was affected by it - and he was.  “Well, that is a shame,” remarked Hyammo as he looked down at the puddle forming on the floor under the chair.  “Most people manage to hold their water, at least until the end.  Perhaps this means we shall have a successful session.”

Erestor made an attempt not to show emotion, but the pain and fear coupled with shame and regret brought tears to his eyes.  He bowed his head and gripped the arms of the chair, his entire body shaking.  No longer erect, there was a fleeting thought that Hyammo would stop, but instead, Erestor felt the leather gloved fingers under his chin.  “Nothing to see down there,” said Hyammo, and as soon as Erestor focused on another of the paintings, he felt the jolt that hit him in the chest shoot through his body.  It caused his limbs to jerk uncontrollably, and he was almost thankful for the restraints.

Each successive wave of energy caused pain to the tips of his fingers and toes, and by the third burst, he had closed his eyes, trying to ignore the images on the wall.  When Hyammo noticed, he employed the use of a contraption of his own design which he was exceedingly proud of that kept Erestor’s eyes open for the duration of the ‘treatment’.  At the end, a bucket of water was used, poured over his head, the water brushed to the end of the room where it flowed down a hole in the ground.

He expected to be taken back to the clinic, but he was not.  He was left there, secured in the same place, and subjected to treatments every day.  Some days, it was the homosexual imagery, and when he showed any sign of enjoyment, Hyammo was there with one of the rune-stones.  Sometimes it was electricity, and sometimes ice, but always, as Hyammo promised, it was effective.  On other days, he was shown pictures of traditional couples - one man, one woman.  If he did not show interest fast enough, Hyammo was there, and the punishment seemed even more brutal.

Then there were the hours in between, and they were almost as bad.  No, they were worse.  Each time the treatment came to an end, water from a bucket was thrown at him.  If the treatment was long, the water was cold.  Either way, it only took a few minutes, in the chair, in the dark, for him to start shivering.  No one came to dry him off, or see to his bodily needs.  No one fed him, and the only water was from the bucket.  He trained himself to wait until someone came into the room before he urinated, because it meant they would throw water on him, and it was clean, and if it came at the right angle and his mouth was open, it would quench his constant thirst.

Finally, a day came when the images were displayed, and Erestor saw the familiar painting of three men.  The painting he had secretly yearned to be a part of.  And he felt…

nothing.

And he was praised, for hours he sat, and there was not a hint of interest.  He was moved back to the clinic, and resumed the classes, but every few weeks he would wake up in the room with the paintings.  The first time, he shook so violently and cried so hard he nearly choked - but he managed not to show interest, and was taken back to the clinic after much praise.  This happened a few additional times over the course of the year, but he continued to successfully look at the paintings without a hint of emotion.  And when the year was up he was declared cured, and his parents were proud, and he spoke to them of journaling and group therapy, but never of the tiny dark room in the basement.  

He spoke of that to no one.

And he never saw Millaldo again.

A gasp came from Erestor.  He could not tell if he had been holding his breath the entire time, or if he found relief now that this part of the tale was told.  His throat was dry again, and he felt the need for emotional release, but his eyes were sore and worn out, and he only managed a hiccup before he buried his face against Fingon’s chest.

Fingon’s plea for Erestor’s trust swept over him bitterly right now. Not for any ill feelings toward his new mate; if anything he loved Erestor more than ever. His empathy for this dark beauty felt bottomless. No, it was entirely because of the knowledge that Erestor’s faith included a reliance on his own ability to govern his reactions. He could never, ever have imagined this. His blood had previously boiled to this degree only against Morgoth and his servants. The urge to leave this bed, leave this house, and leave something resembling a near-fatal atrocity in his wake at a certain location on the mainland almost overwhelmed him. Rage of a nearly blinding magnitude coursed through his body and he not only had to master it, he could not afford to even show it.

Glorfindel seemed to sense something of what was occurring within him, for a hand of support laid now on his shoulder. Fingon did the only thing he could, and begged Eru for strength in that moment. Breathing deeply, he held Erestor, clinging to each and every thought of the love shared between them today, until his eyes were able to open. He did not trust himself to speak yet, so instead pressed soft kisses against Erestor’s head. Sooner or later, he would need to say something. But he could buy some time this way. Some time… he kept on with the kisses, until there was only the pattern of his lips and the scent of the dark hair.

Worn though he was, Erestor could still hear some of Fingon’s concern, though it was shadowed in his mind due to his own fatigue.  All the same, some emotions are just too strong to mask, and Erestor burrowed closer.  “So now you know.  I thought I was broken and in the process of trying to find someone to fix me, I actually did end up broken.  Just promise me you will not kill any of them,” he said in a tired voice.  “It may seem hard to believe, but all of them thought they were doing the right thing.  Even I thought it was the right thing for a long time after,” he said.

Glorfindel bowed his head to kiss Erestor’s brow.  “And all I can think now is that I never truly appreciated what you were doing for me in Gondolin.”

“I give you my promise that this will not be the fourth kinslaying,” Fingon said dully, knowing that the safest thing he could do was to bind his honor before he could plan anything all of them would regret. He felt so… defeated. But in spite of it, he heard that Erestor’s tired voice sounded lighter. Not so choked with pain. This would all take some time to accept and understand.  ”Fuck,” he finally said aloud. “I… I could not have… I worked in that city, I walked past that clinic… fuck. Does not matter now. You are my cherished Erestor, and I love you, and I cannot even say how proud I am of you. Fin. Get in closer. Group hug. Please. A really, really good one, too.”

Erestor was suddenly sandwiched between his lovers as Glorfindel put his arms around them both and embraced them tightly.  He nuzzled at Erestor’s shoulder, while Erestor simply allowed himself to find what peace he could in the cocoon of love they were creating.  “I know you are drained right now,” said Glorfindel.  “I know there is more to all this; I know that it is too much to ask now to have you recall more of these tragedies past.  There have been times when you have come close to revealing something, and then you retreat again.  Now that the gates have opened, please, Ress, do not shut them on us.  Let things come out as they may.  I imagine you must feel the burden lighter, though it is no doubt just as horrific as it was when it occurred.  These memories cannot be made to go away; the events have already happened - but Fingon and I are here and a part of you, and we want to share your experiences - even the bad ones.”

There was a slow sigh.  “I thought you would think I was stupid.”  Erestor turned his head to peek out from the tangle of limbs that enfolded him.  “I certainly feel like an idiot.”

“Erestor, no…” Fingon whispered. “You were tortured until something inside of you snapped. That such a thing was done… and is possibly still being done… that no one knows what really goes on in that place…” He discontinued this train of thought, realizing it was not what Erestor needed to hear. “You are not an idiot. You are brave. Glorfindel spoke for me as well. I cannot take away that these things were done to you, but I can support and strengthen you as you free yourself of these encumbrances. Oh sweetheart, I would do anything for you… none of that ever should have happened. It was so, so wrong.”

“I just wanted to be normal for once,” muttered Erestor.  “My parents were poor; we lived in a tent.  I was teased for that.   My mother was the one who worked - I was harassed about that.  There were so many things.  Then there was Sarati, and I was around all of the really creative, brilliant youths - people like me.  Except, once again, they were not like me.  When they found out, it was just more of the same.  Crude poems left on my pillow and refusal to sit near me because they thought they would be infected.  There was even the morning that they… I have no idea what it was, a horse or a calf or something… they gelded something so that they could sneak what they took off into my breakfast.”  His chin was trembling again.

Glorfindel bowed his head and rested it against Erestor’s shoulder.  “Shit.  And that is why you stab your porridge with a fork before you start eating it.”

“I guess I have a lot of stupid rituals.”  Erestor shook his head and tried to keep himself from crying again, but a few tears strayed.  “I thought, with Fëanor, I found someone who understood me.  Someone who accepted me and… well, shit.  Fuck.  Why am I telling you this?  You just saw it all.”  He willed himself not to apologize again, but another “Sorry” emerged before he could stop it.

Fingon smiled, and leaned in to kiss him. He might or might not choose to berate half his family later. One thing at a time, and at the moment, silencing the apologies seemed more appealing.

“I am going to be a mess tomorrow.  I can imagine it now - all those bloody interns, and the slightest thing is going to set me off.”  Erestor managed to free a hand from the cuddling and covered his face with it.  “Maybe I can hide in my office all day and pretend I am still upset about the reference books.”

“No hiding in your office and no hiding from us,” said Glorfindel gently as he lifted Erestor’s hand away, first to kiss his nose, and then Glorfindel kissed the back of Erestor’s hand.  “Another day off would not hurt anything, would it?” he asked as he looked at Fingon.

“The courier should be here this afternoon,” said Fingon.  “I believe there are many reasons for us to take the remainder of the week off.”  

It appeared that Erestor might protest, but Glorfindel, still nuzzling Erestor, nodded his head.  “That sounds ideal.  The only time I get both of you here with me for a significant amount of time is planting season, which barely counts because we can go for days without being in the same areas out there.”

“Great.”  Fingon reached out and touched Erestor’s cheek lightly.  “Or did you have an objection to that?”

“We just have so much work to do,” was the best Erestor could manage.

“And the work will still be there when we return,” Fingon reasoned.  “I am going to slip away momentarily to write a note for the courier.  That way we will not have an intern search party showing up on our doorstep tomorrow.”

Fingon’s momentary absence allowed Erestor and Glorfindel time alone, and Glorfindel spooned behind Erestor, who traced patterns along Glorfindel’s arms.  “I wanted to tell you so many times,” Erestor said to break the silence.  “I just knew once I did, it would come crashing down.  I managed to keep strong by building a wall around it, but that wall kept you out.”

“You were strong for me on so many occasions,” whispered Glorfindel as he kissed the back of Erestor’s neck.  “After Faelion, when I came back.  Every time something unexpected happened with the children we raised.  When Gildor left, when I was reborn and knew nothing, when we were in Gondolin and things fell apart time after time - you were there.  When they were going to leave me for dead after the Nirnaeth.  Twice, you were brutally punished because of me.  You have been my foundation.  My rock.”

“I tried,” whispered Erestor back.  “I wanted better for you than was given to me.”

Glorfindel took a deep breath and nuzzled Erestor’s neck.  “Let me be strong for you now.  Let Fingon and I be your foundation.”

Erestor turned in Glorfindel’s arms and snuggled close.  “Maybe we can all be the foundation for each other,” he mumbled.  

By the time Fingon rejoined them, Erestor was asleep.  “I caught the courier just as he was heading away again.  He probably thinks me a laze-about,” Fingon remarked, for he had on only a house robe, and likely had run after the courier wearing only that and perhaps some slippers.  “Since we rarely take time off, I scribbled a note that all is well, but Erestor and I intend not to return until sometime next week.  I think that allows ample time for rest and even a little relaxation.”

“Speaking of rest…” Glorfindel lifted up the edge of the blanket, and Fingon dutifully shed his robe and climbed in with them.

* * *

Glorfindel thought he would be the first to rise, but there was another occupant missing from the bed when he awoke.  While he did not want to leave Erestor alone, Glorfindel knew that the rumble in his own stomach might wake his mate if he did not see to the state of breakfast.  “Something a little less messy today,” he whispered to himself with a chuckle after he kissed Erestor on the cheek, tucked the covers around him, and quietly closed the bedroom door.

He expected to find Fingon in the kitchen when he arrived downstairs, but his other lover (Or was it spouse now?  He would work that out in his head later) was seated on the sofa.  There were some opened letters on the table, but Fingon seemed preoccupied with the blank wall across the room.  “Good morning,” offered Glorfindel.

Fingon looked up, smiled, and raised his hand slightly.

“I am going to make breakfast.  Was there anything special you wanted, or did you already eat?” asked Glorfindel.

Fingon shook his head, smile still on his face, but there was something… odd.  In public, Fingon was not one to be considered a ‘jolly elf’; his serious countenance was something nearly synonymous with all of the men of Fingolfin’s line.  In private, Fingon was more relaxed, but even then true smiles were rare, and he never faked them.  This one was not exactly fake, but there was something wrong about it.

“I thought I might make coffee, too.  Did you want some?”

The smile remained in place, and Fingon only shrugged.  

“Alright, well, it will be there if you do.”  Glorfindel left the room and proceeded to the kitchen.  He put a kettle on and listened for any sounds from the other room that might clue him in on what was happening.  He did not so much as hear a single crackle of paper, which confirmed the letters were for show.  Sometimes, when Fingon was alone in a room, he was known to hum or sing.  Neither could be heard.  When preparations were set in the kitchen, and all Glorfindel needed was to wait for biscuits to cook and water to boil, he returned to the foyer and gently confronted Fingon.  “You are awfully quiet this morning.  Do you want to talk about whatever is bothering you?”

At first, Fingon feigned surprise and shook his head.  

“But something is bothering you,” declared Glorfindel.  He sucked in a breath as he watched Fingon frown and look away.  Perhaps this was something Fingon needed to work out with Erestor, he suddenly realized, and he backed away.  “Sorry.  If you need something, I will be right out in the kitchen.  Anything.  Really.”  He bit his lip and added, “I love you,” before he slipped out of the room.

“Do I sound different to you?”

Had Glorfindel not just spoken to Fingon, and not just seen him, and known how far he was, he might have thought the question came from someone else.  Slowly, Glorfindel entered the room again, and now it was his turn to communicate nonverbally as he nodded his head with eyes wider than intended.  It was not terribly different - it was, undoubtedly, Fingon - and yet, it was different.  Fingon’s voice previously had the quality of ambiguity, and more than once when in a crowded area in public or while waiting out the intermission at a theatre, his comments were blindly responded to with phrases like, ‘I am much in agreement, miss!’ or ‘Truer words were never spoken, madam!’  Even in sparser settings, the length of his hair and neutral style of dress whenever he was not working elicited like responses from strangers.

Now there was an unmistakable hint of masculinity to that same voice, and Fingon slowly nodded in return.  “So that happened,” he said softly, and this sentence seemed to fracture just slightly on the third word.  He swallowed hard and worried his finger along the crease of an envelope.

“Um… well…”  Glorfindel bit his lip again as Fingon held up his hand, one finger raised in the same way he motioned to those in the library he was about to shush in an attempt to silence them before he had to make noise.  Fingon slowly stood up, and Glorfindel’s eyes widened again.

“Alright.  So not just me.”  Fingon pulled the hem of the plain yellow pajama shirt down, which did not quite reach the top of the pants, and sighed.  At one time, the shirt had been rather loose on him, but now Fingon tugged on the material again and shook his head.

“No, it is not just you,” Glorfindel confirmed.  “It looks like everything you are wearing shrank overnight.”

Fingon looked up and laughed at Glorfindel’s joke, yet stopped abruptly as he heard the slightly unfamiliar sound.  “What am I going to do?” he asked, still speaking quietly, uncertain of the sounds he made.

“Get a new wardrobe,” suggested Glorfindel, only half jesting.

“Besides that.”  Fingon ran a hand over his hair so that his fingers did not tangle in his braids.  “Everything I feared would happen if I did what I did is happening,” he stated in a hurried whisper, and while he did not look panicked, he sounded it.  “If my penis got bigger overnight, I swear, I--”

“Whoa, no, no, we do not make idle oaths in this household,” cautioned Glorfindel.  He gave it a moment and then asked, “Do you want me to look at it for you?”

“No.”  Fingon crossed his arms over his chest.  He huffed.  “Yes.  No,” he said just as quickly.  He squirmed a little.  “Maybe.”

“I am extremely doubtful that could have happened,” said Glorfindel matter-of-factly.  “I have a feeling you would have known if that was the case.”

Fingon did not disagree.  Instead, he motioned a hand from the floor to his head.  “What am I going to do about this?” he asked again.

“I doubt you can ‘un-grow’, so I think you are honestly going to have to buy new clothing.”

“But… is this it?  Will it happen again?  Is it going to happen every time I… you know…”  Fingon motioned his hand.

“Make rhubarb?” Glorfindel realized immediately that the time for jokes was over, and he kissed the scowl (after standing on his tiptoes and really stretching) off of Fingon’s face.  “Sweetheart, this whole thing hardly seems logical.  I can think of two causes.  The first, as you pointed out, would be related to purely having sex.  But you did do that with Maedhros in your previous life.  Did you suddenly grow from that?”

“No, but I was only alive another week or so.”  Fingon furrowed his brow.  

“Sure, but this happened overnight,” Glorfindel said.  “So I think my other theory is more likely.”

When Glorfindel did not offer more immediately, Fingon demanded, “What is the other conclusion?”

“Did you ever hear of an Elven King by the name Elu Thingol?”

“Sure - Telerin Elf, King of Doriath and arguably Middle-earth, married a Mai-- oh, shit.”  Fingon paled.  “Erestor is one of the Ainur.”

“Half, but still. So, I think the whole being a gymnast thing may have stalled growth in certain areas as you have previously pointed out, but I am really doubtful that sex automatically equals an onset of delayed puberty.  I doubt it has anything to do with sex at all.  I think it has everything to do with bonding with Erestor yesterday,” theorized Glorfindel.

“You are bound to him as well.  Did you get taller?” pressed Fingon.  “Did your voice change like this?”

“No, but you are the one harboring a part of his soul.  I think that has some added validity.”  

Fingon continued to stand in the middle of the room.  The kettle whistled, and Glorfindel excused himself to see to it briefly before he returned.  Fingon was still there, staring at the wall, and Glorfindel touched his arm.  Refocused on Glorfindel now, Fingon said, “But I never wanted this.  I tried so hard not to be this way.”

“What way?” asked Glorfindel for clarification.

“Tall.”  Fingon looked away.

Glorfindel ushered Fingon back to the sofa.  “Let me tell you a secret.  I thought you were tall before this.  Almost everyone is tall compared to me,” he said.  “It is all a matter of perspective.  While you obviously grew a bit, I think you are going to find that a lot of people - most other Elves, in fact - are still far taller than you are.  Maedhros certainly is; you brothers definitely are.  You might just be able to see eye-to-eye with Aredhel now.”

“No one will ever see eye-to-eye with her,” mumbled Fingon.

“The point I am trying to make is that, yes, you are taller.  Ironically, you are taller than Erestor now.  But you are not… ridiculously Elu Thingol tall,” Glorfindel said.

“But…”  Fingon paused to press his knuckles against his closed eyes, and Glorfindel settled an arm comfortingly around him.  “This is terrible for me.”

“Why is this terrible?  I am asking sincerely,” added Glorfindel.  “Besides creating a clothing crisis, what has you so distressed?”

“I was already so tall.  I had to lift my feet sometimes so I did not catch them on a mat.  The parallel bars only go up so high,” he continued, truly sobbing now.  “Most of my teammates were always teasing me because I could just jump up to grab the rings and never needed a coach to lift me up.  All of my tumbling passes on floor are going to be off…” and the rest was a jumble of athletic gibberish that Glorfindel did not need to interpret to understand.

“Sweetheart, we can build a set of bars for you that are higher,” suggested Glorfindel.  “You could practice in the yard, whenever you want.  Then you would not need to sneak in time at the arena between gymnastic meets.”

“Not for practice!  Competition regulations are really strict about the heights of everything.”  Fingon pulled up the front of his shirt to wipe his nose.  “I have no idea how to compensate now.  Gyms rarely take someone the height I was before - I had to beg to get into one of them.”

“But honey, you stopped competing years and years ago,” Glorfindel said.  

Fingon chewed at his upper lip as the tears kept falling.  “But there was always a chance… I mean, if they just changed the age limitations…”  

“Even if they did, sweetie, I cannot imagine they would change them that greatly.  They might add another fifty years, or a hundred, but the cutoff would still prevent you.”  Glorfindel 

passed his hand over the top of Fingon’s head a few times and coaxed Fingon to set his cheek against his shoulder, which was only accomplished by Fingon leaning down a little.  “Besides, it would take someone to put that idea forth and try to establish the change.”

“What do you think I have been trying to do all these years?”  Fingon reached to the stack of correspondence.  He plucked the top sheet from the pile.  “I have been trying so many angles.  I appealed to every athletic regulation board.  I have written to every member of every gymnastic society.  I have even petitioned teams to allow me as an alternate member, because there is a loophole that does not declare the ages of the alternates.”

Glorfindel took the letter and skimmed through it.  “How close are you to getting someone to change it?”

Fingon took a shaky breath.  “I am not,” he admitted.  “All I have are piles and piles of negativity.  Rejection, rejection, rejection.”  He pulled the letter from Glorfindel and tossed it back onto the pile.  “I started by speaking generally, and then when that did not work, I switched tactics and tried to make appeals just for myself.  Either I receive no reply, kind letters that suggest I would be a fine coach, or very terse responses that remind me I had my chance at glory and should be content with the titles I already won.”

“I am sorry that no one is listening to you,” said Glorfindel.  “I did not realize how much this meant to you.  We can still build equipment for you in the yard,” he offered.  There was no change in Fingon’s emotional state, so Glorfindel tried a different tactic.  “If the competition is such an important part, why not join one of the archery clubs?  You are an excellent marksman.  I am sure they would be thrilled to have you.  Archery has no restrictions - and neither does horse racing.  You excel at that as well.  I know that there are races from spring through summer, and Erestor would readily train with you.  Maybe the two of you could even compete together.”

“It has nothing to do with the competition,” corrected Fingon.  “It was… being at those gyms, being part of those teams, those were the best years of my life and I would do anything to be a part of that again.”

“Oh, honey.  This is where I am going to disagree with you.  Those were not the best years of your life.  The best years started yesterday morning when you chose to bind yourself to that beautiful man upstairs.”  Glorfindel wiped his own tears away before he continued.  “Maybe the reason you grew has nothing to do with anything we are logicking out.  Maybe Eru did this.  Maybe this is his way of saying, stop.  Reassess.  Enjoy what you have, because what you have right now is amazing and practically unprecedented. Dedicate your heart and soul to the present and the future, not the past.  I know this is uncharted territory for you - familiar, because we have been together, but different because it just will be from now on, but I think you are going to find that this is the best team you are ever going to be part of.”  When this seemed to cause some of Fingon’s tears to subside, Glorfindel added, “You can even be team captain.  I mean, you are the tallest one…”

“Shut up.”  But Fingon had smiled, briefly, yet genuinely.  “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

“Completely true.  You might not be competitive,” said Glorfindel, “but I can be.”

“I never said I was not competitive,” argued Fingon as he rubbed at his red nose.  “I just find other things to be more important.”

The creak of the the door on the upper level silenced further conversation.  Erestor emerged onto the stairway a few moments later, and Fingon held his breath while Glorfindel held Fingon’s hand.  There were still the glass doors separating them, and Erestor more or less leaned into one to open it as he adjusted the sash around his robe.  “Morning,” he greeted, and then he wiped at the corners of his mouth and poked at the sleep in his eyes.

“Good morning,” returned Glorfindel as he stood up.  “I should see to the tea,” he hurriedly said.

“Fin!” hissed Fingon, and he even grabbed unsuccessfully for the retreating Elf.  Fingon turned back to see Erestor standing in the doorway, and he concentrated very hard on not thinking about his voice or his height without having any idea how he was supposed to not think of these things or block them from Erestor.

Erestor watched Glorfindel leave and then looked to Fingon.  Fingon looked away when Erestor tilted his head, and that was when Erestor said, “I have never had the opportunity to kiss someone taller than me.  Kind of an exciting thought, to be honest.”

Tentatively, Fingon stood up and clasped his hands behind his back.  “You really need to teach me how to control my ‘loud thinking’.”

Erestor stopped just before reaching Fingon.  “Talk again,” he requested.

“What should I say?”

“Say anything,” said Erestor.

Fingon swallowed and then asked, “Do I sound better to you now than I did before?”

“No, just different.  I liked it before and I like it now.”  Erestor closed the distance between them and placed his hand on Fingon’s chest.  “Maybe it is a little… sexier now,” Erestor settled on as he looked up.

“Is it?”  Fingon ran his fingers over the curve of Erestor’s ear.  “Should we see if we can figure out kissing now?”

No further encouragement was needed.  Erestor licked his lips and stretched to reach his goal while Fingon bowed his head slightly.  They kissed several times before they parted, each with a smile on his lips.  “I could get used to this,” said Erestor.

“I thought you hated change,” teased Fingon.

“But I really, really love you,” Erestor replied.  He put his hand behind Fingon’s neck to pull him down for another kiss.  “At least now we will not have to flip a coin to decide who gets to lead when we dance.”

“So I get to lead?  That is quite the concession coming from you,” Fingon acknowledged.  “Shall we try it?” he offered.

“Right now?” Erestor looked down at his attire, a comfortable yet worn robe.  Then he caught sight of the way Fingon’s clothing did not quite fit properly, and he shrugged.  “Why not?” Erestor took hold of Fingon’s hand and took a half step back, curtseyed low in a way befitting a proper dance with a king, and placed his arms over Fingon’s shoulders.

“Huh.  That was really well executed,” recognized Fingon as he set his hands at Erestor’s hips and began to guide him through the steps.  “Quite the hidden talent.”

“I used to teach etiquette to young girls in Rivendell,” answered Erestor.  

“Oh, now I *really* wish I had been in Rivendell with the two of you!”  Fingon laughed at the images produced in his mind, and Erestor confirmed the assumptions with a few anecdotes.  

“He wrote a book about it, too,” said Glorfindel, who had been able to hear most of the conversation from the kitchen.  “The entire thing is in verse, with strange morals at the bottom of each page.”

“I would love to read it,” said Fingon excitedly as he gave Erestor a final spin, then bowed before he took a cup of coffee from the tray Glorfindel held.  “Is there a copy of it here?”

“Oh, I certainly hope not,” groaned Erestor.  “That was from another time.  I held a lot of misogynistic beliefs when I wrote that.  Part of me hopes that all copies have since been destroyed.”

“You could write a second edition,” suggested Fingon.  “Such exquisite curtseying skills should not go to waste.”

“I would prefer to utilize my talents on more creative pursuits.”  To this end, Erestor reached into the pocket of his robe and removed a folded sheet of paper.  “I, uhm…”

“You wrote poetry,” guessed Fingon.  

“For you.  I wrote poetry for you.”  Erestor cleared his throat.  “I, uhm… I actually woke up when Glorfindel got up, but this started to form in my mind and I wanted to get it down before I forgot it.”

Fingon began to reach for the paper, and then frowned.  “I was having a crisis down here.  How could you possibly write poetry while listening to that?”

“Blocking works in both directions.  Just like I can block my thoughts from you, I can block myself from hearing your thoughts,” admitted Erestor.  “That was why your voice surprised me - I only caught a bit about getting taller, so I was prepared for that.  If you find it intrusive, though, tell me.  I do not want to make you uncomfortable if there are things you prefer I not listen to.”

“If it is anything like what I experienced briefly yesterday, I have no idea how you are managing to function with my… inner voice in your head,” said Fingon.

“Actually, I find that I really enjoy this,” admitted Erestor.  “You have a very orderly mind.”

“Erestor and I are in agreement that what goes on in our heads is basically organized chaos,” said Glorfindel.

“Or just chaos,” added Erestor, though he did not offer whether that applied to himself or Glorfindel.

“Well, to be honest, I only sort of initially even felt something, so now I would not know if you were up there or not.  If you like being there, it seems a fair trade.  I share random thoughts, you write poetry for me…”  Fingon started to reach out again, then stopped once more.  “Wait.  You walked down here as if you had just woken up.”

“Acting, Fingon, acting.”  Glorfindel set the tray down to pick up his own cup of coffee.  “He has done that to me on a few occasions,” he said as he added an equal portion of cream to the cup.

“I really was not up that long,” grumbled Erestor.  “And I am still a bit sleepy.”  He rubbed at the corner of his eyes with his knuckles as if he needed to prove it.

“Alright, alright.  I want my poem.”  Fingon handed his cup to Glorfindel so that he could pull Erestor close to him.  “Wax poetic to me, cupcake.”

Erestor unfolded the sheet and cleared his throat.  “Keep in mind, this is just the first draft.  The meter might be a little off, and I think some of the words could be confusing.  I tend to polish them over the span of a few--”

“Eres…” whined Fingon.

With a mirthful chuckle, Erestor cleared his throat again and began to read:

_ When the winter wind blows and the trees are ruddled _

_ When walking alone becomes such a struggle _

_ We shall be hand-in-hand a-cuddled and nuddled _

_ I dream of a fireplace, a kiss, and a snuggle _

_ When walking alone becomes such a struggle _

_ Beside you I shall abide you and handsomely huddle _

_ I dream of a fireplace, a kiss, and a snuggle _

_ On cold nights in darkness I just want to cuddle _

_ Beside you I shall abide you and handsomely huddle _

_ No gift is greater than your smile when we nuzzle _

_ On cold nights in darkness I just want to cuddle _

_ I have read you, my riddle, and so solved the puzzle _

_ No gift is greater than your smile when we nuzzle _

_ We shall be hand-in-hand a-cuddled and nuddled _

_ I have read you, my riddle, and so solved the puzzle _

_ When the winter wind blows and the trees are ruddled _

“I love it,” said Fingon, and he gave Erestor a nuzzle.  “I like the first draft of this.  You should just make it the final draft.”

“Are you sure?” asked Erestor.  “I did not know if anyone would know what ‘nuddle’ meant.”

“All that matters is the three of us know,” declared Glorfindel, who set down his cup to join them in a snuggle.

“And that is enough for me,” said Fingon.

Soon enough, they took up residence on the couch, Erestor in the middle, just like at bedtime.  While Glorfindel and Fingon sipped their coffee, Erestor read silently through the poem, lips moving soundlessly.  When he tried to reach around Fingon to retrieve a quill from the writing set on the table, Fingon grabbed hold of his elbow.  “No edits,” he warned.

“Everything written needs editing,” argued Erestor.

Fingon narrowed his eyes at Erestor.  “Agree to disagree.”

“I am… not agreeing to that unless you give me that quill,” said Erestor.

Fingon shook his head as Glorfindel chuckled.  “I like my poem how it is.”

“This is not how this works,” explained Erestor as he twisted his arm away.  “The artist decides when the work is finished.” He glanced at Glorfindel for confirmation of this, but a single finger turned his head back so that he faced Fingon.

“Who is king here?” Fingon asked with a low, playful growl to his voice.

Erestor did not turn away, nor did he initially answer.  Glorfindel leaned forward to peer around at his companions.  Finally, Erestor said very quietly, “You have very pretty eyes.”

“Thank you.”  Fingon kissed the tip of Erestor’s nose, eyes wide open.  “So do you.”

Erestor looked down at the paper for a moment before he held it out to Fingon.  With a confident smile, Fingon set his cup of coffee aside and took the poem before he kissed Erestor again, on the lips this time.  “Thank you, cupcake.”  He sat back to reread the poem, feeling quite victorious as he pulled Erestor closer to snuggle against him.

A moment later, Erestor wriggled out of Fingon’s embrace and turned to Glorfindel.  “What ever happened to backing me up in situations like this?”

“You heard him.  You want me to argue with a king?  Silly…”  Glorfindel booped Erestor on the nose.  “It is a perfect poem.  You should stop second-guessing yourself so much.”

“With poetry, or are we talking about life in general?” asked Erestor, who was being coaxed once more to snuggle with Fingon.  “Oh!”  Erestor sat up again.  “Is there hot water left for tea?”

Glorfindel nodded.  “I will be right back.  With lemon?” he asked as he stood.

“And honey,” Erestor reminded him.

Glorfindel turned and walked backwards out of the room.  “Of course there will be honey, honey.”  He winked and went to the kitchen.

Fingon set the poem aside and ran a hand along Erestor’s arm.  “Are you done being distracted?”

“What?” Erestor cheekily asked.

“Mmmhmm.  Thought so.”  Fingon wrapped his arms around Erestor and pulled him tightly against him.  “I love you.  Tell me when you get tired of hearing that.”

“Never,” replied Erestor.

Fingon laughed and pressed a kiss to the crown of Erestor’s head.  “You will never get tired of it, or you will just refuse to tell me?”

“Oh, now, we just established I am not allowed to refuse,” said Erestor.  “After all, you are the king.”

“Ah… and does that make you my most loyal subject?” teased Fingon.

“Absolutely not,” answered Erestor.  “Ask any king who knows me and they will agree I am a royal pain in the ass.  Glorfindel, on the other hand, as you just observed, is really good when it comes to kings.  I think you will find him very much to your liking in your kingdom.”

“Hmm… well, what about you?”  

Erestor turned his head slightly so he could look into Fingon’s eyes.  “What about me?”

“Is that your way of telling me you plan to be a pain in the ass?”

“I suppose for you I can make an exception,” bantered Erestor back.  “I mean… you are awfully cute--”

“I pride myself in that.”

“--and intelligent--”

“If you say so, who am I to argue?”

“--and cuddly--”

“Shh… if the entire kingdom knew, there would be lines at the palace gates for cuddles and snuggles, and I would never get a thing done.”  Fingon nuzzled Erestor and nibbled at his ear.  “You do know I am just playing, right?  I never want you to think I have power or control over you.  Not after… you know…”

“Not after what you learned last night?”  Erestor sighed and closed his eyes.  “And there is more, of course, other things, other times… last night was very draining, so you will have to forgive me if I do not share more now.”

“I would never pressure you to do that,” said Fingon.  “I just want to make sure that I did not do something that upset you.  I never want to be the cause of trauma such as you faced before.  As you somewhat know, most of my intimate physical encounters have not exactly been… you know, fireworks and magic and all of that.”

“Was it fireworks and magic for you yesterday?” asked Erestor.

“Yes,” replied Fingon, and the ridiculous expression from the day before was back.  “Fireworks and magic, along with whipped cream and marshmallows and truffles and champagne.  And you.  Mostly you.”

“Good.”  Erestor smiled and readjusted so he could easily kiss Fingon.  “It was very enjoyable for me, too.  I worried a dozen times that I said the wrong thing--”

“No…”  Fingon stroked his finger over Erestor’s lips.  “Not to me.  You could never do that.  Although, no more throwing books.”

“You take all my fun away.”  Erestor reached up to trace his fingers along Fingon’s jaw.  He paused a moment and peered closer.

“Is something wrong?” asked Fingon with concern.

Erestor shook his head and returned to his exploration with his fingertips.  “Glorfindel and I have a way to… stop things during ‘adult playtime’.  Just a word we use, especially when we are… I guess, pretending things would be the best way to explain it.”

“A safe word,” said Fingon.  “Yes; Maedhros and I had one.”  He smirked.  “It was…”

“Turgon?!”  

“Huh.  I keep forgetting about this mind reading thing,” admitted Fingon.

“That is--”

“Effective.”

“...yes, I suppose,” agreed Erestor.  “I was going to say that what Glorfindel and I use was… unconventional, though now, I feel like we need a new word, because--”

“Rhubarb.”

“Oh.  Good guess,” commended Erestor.  “Wait… was that a guess, or--”

“Ohh…”  Fingon sat up a little more, his gaze cast to the floor as if he was reading something there.  His lips curled into a lazy smile.  “You… like my shoulders?”

“Are you... “  Erestor physically leaned away.  “You should not be able to hear that--”

“I guess I do have really nice shoulders,” said Fingon as he pulled up a sleeve to assess.

“--because I am an expert at blocking my thoughts--”

“And if you want omelettes, I can make them for you.  I can do amazing things with eggs.  Just because I do not eat eggs does not mean you have to suffer,” said Fingon as he placed a comforting hand on Erestor’s arm.  “Omelettes, crepes, quiche-- you name it, I can make it for you.”

“--and I can even keep Glorfindel out of there when I want to.”

“Knitting is a good hobby.  If you really want to learn-- do you remember those two ladies we met, during our vacation to the mainland?  I bet one of them would gladly teach you.”

“Where did you even find that?” asked Erestor, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

Fingon finally looked back at Erestor.  “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

Fingon laughed and nudged his nose against Erestor’s.  “Do you really want to learn how to knit?”

Erestor squirmed just a little further away.  “Maybe.”

“I think that would be--”  Fingon suddenly sobered.  He squinted his eyes, and Erestor looked up at the ceiling.  Fingon lifted a hand to touch his own cheek.  His eyes widened, and he scuttled out of the room after half-lifting, half-shoving Erestor off of his lap.  

It was just a moment later that Glorfindel entered with tea.  He looked around as he handed the cup to Erestor.  “Where did Fingon--”

“Fuck!”

“--go… well, that answers that.  What--”  Glorfindel shut his mouth as Fingon came back into the room with a mirror.  “Oh.  That.”

“That.  This.  Yes.”  Fingon had the mirror concentrated on his cheeks and chin.  “When was someone going to tell me about this?”

Erestor and Glorfindel exchanged looks.  “I just assumed you knew about that and planned to talk about it later?”  Glorfindel shrugged.  “I mean… I just figured it was all… together… height, voice… facial hair…”

“The expression on his face tells me he did not notice this when he woke up.”  Erestor stood up and slowly approached.  When he was standing before Fingon, he reached up and slid the mirror away.  “Are you going to be alright?”   
  


Fingon rubbed his palm against the barely visible stubble.  “Not sure.”

“Maybe you should come sit down,” offered Erestor as he took Fingon by the arm and brought him back to the couch.  Once all three were seated, Erestor, who was petting Fingon’s head and kissing along his neck, whispered, “I could be wrong, but I think I might not be the only person who has trouble with change at times.”

Fingon rubbed at his entire face.  “And the point goes to Erestor.”

“Do you want to shave?” asked Glorfindel.  He received a noncommittal grunt in reply.  “Do you want to leave it and see what happens?  It might not be as bad as you think.  They are really nice to have in the winter months,” he added as he stroked his own beard.

“Except you have a really nice beard,” countered Fingon.  “It compliments your features, and it matches your hair--”

“As most do,” interrupted Erestor.

“--so it blends in, whereas this,” Fingon said as he waved his hand around the lower half of his face, “is going to be noticable.”

“No one is going to be looking at whatever grows on your chin,” Erestor said with certainty.

“Yes, they will,” said Fingon firmly.

“Not right away.”  And Erestor lifted the mirror back up so that it was right in front of Fingon’s face.  “That is what they are going to look at.”

Fingon slowly took the mirror back and took in his reflection - specifically, he looked into the glass, and saw his own eyes for the first time since the events of the previous morning.  “Those were not idle words,” he realized of Erestor’s earlier compliment.  Fingon’s eyes, previously hazel, would still be described as such - but now they had an almost ethereal quality to them.  Most apparent were the flecks of yellow and orange, which now stood out and appeared copper and gold, though green and blue were equally brilliant shades of emerald and sapphire as well.

“No one is going to notice a beard.  Not right away,” agreed Glorfindel.

Fingon lowered the mirror and leaned back with a sigh.  “All I can think right now is those interns are going to have a field day with all of this.”

“I remember all of the crazy rumors they spread when you cut your hair,” Erestor said.

Fingon groaned and set the mirror aside.  Everyone was very quiet for a little while, until Erestor, who had been worrying his hands, mumbled an embarrassed, “I am sorry.”

“What?”  Fingon sat up again.  “For what?”

“For causing this.”  Erestor leaned forward a bit.  “If we had just left everything as it was, if I had just been happy with what we had--”

“No.”  Fingon immediately sat up and wrapped his arms around Erestor and pulled him closer, kissing his forehead before he held him tightly.  Glorfindel leaned in on the other side and put his arms around both of them.  “None of us could have known, you included. And… I find that suddenly my perspective is being rather quickly rearranged. I am the one who is sorry,” he said, casting his eyes down. “For being a petty idiot about my appearance and thoughtlessly causing you to feel badly. Please pardon me, Erestor. You may have been a pain in the ass to kings, but I can be a kingly pain in the ass with my vanity and insecurity. I think I just proved that,” he said softly.

“We all have a lot of personal… things.  Challenges,” amended Glorfindel.  “I think what we need to do is make sure we are supportive of one another, and not to think we are ever the cause of grief.  Communication.  We need to communicate more,” he said.

“I think that is going to happen whether we want it or not,” said Erestor.

Fingon nodded.  “We should want to, though.”

“Of course,” agreed Glorfindel.

“We will be opening ourselves to a new level of trust,” Fingon realized, talking to himself as much as to his partners. “More vulnerability. But I cannot imagine a difficulty that love and patience cannot bridge. I know that we have that here, and…” he paused, turning his head quizzically to regard Erestor. “And you want all of us to learn knitting while I am talking about trust and vulnerability?” He did not know whether to laugh or cry.

“No.  Not while you are talking,” Erestor huffed.  “I was just thinking, since we do not have the sheep yet (and here, Glorfindel did start to laugh) we are going to need yarn, and the market is only open until noon today, so we probably need to get dressed and go soon or we will need to wait until tomorrow.  I mean, we have a week or so off, there has to be a book about knitting somewhere in the library upstairs, possibly on the third shelf of the second case, not that I read the entire volume already and took notes.”  Erestor cleared his throat.  “But I think what you are both saying is very beautiful, so if we miss making it to the market on time, I promise not to be sore about it.”

“And you thought you were the impatient one,” said Glorfindel with a smile.

“Yarn? What about knitting needles?” Fingon asked. “And sheep...we will need another washtub, since I refuse to bathe in lanolin-soaked wood. Carding paddles, and a means to spin the wool. Yes, at a minimum. Shears too… is there a list?”

“No one look at me,” said Glorfindel.  “I know next to nothing about knitting.”  He prodded Erestor with a look.

“I mean… maybe that book has a good list for beginners.  I do not know, I mean, it would seem logical.”  Erestor’s gaze swept from one lover to the other.

“I used to know how to do one basic...stitch, is it called?” Fingon mused. “I probably forgot. It was my mother who taught me and helped me finish my only project into a mediocre potholder. And as I recall almost none of it, I am just behind Glorfindel. You said we have a book, cupcake?” 

“I mean… there are probably a half dozen up there with different stitches and patterns,” revealed Erestor.  “One of them, though, has a really nice guide for beginners.  At least, it seemed that way.  Supply list, essential stitches, typical issues knitters run into… that sort of thing.”

“The advantage of this is we can just knit you a new wardrobe,” said Glorfindel to Fingon with a wink.

“No penis anything,” Fingon warned, waggling his finger. “I know what sort of ideas you get.”

Glorfindel touched his hand to his chest and mouthed ‘Me?’ with a feigned look of surprise.

Either Erestor chose to ignore the conversation, or he was too focused on the idea of the new future hobby.  Whatever the case, he patted both of his sweethearts on the knee and stood up.  “I am going to go retrieve that book - if I happen to see it - and some clothing so that we can get to the market.  If we choose to go.  No pressure,” he added as he strolled out of the room.

Glorfindel waited until Erestor went upstairs to retrieve the book and clothing before he looked back to Fingon.  With a very straight face and a sparkle in his eyes, he asked, “Can we keep him?”

“I doubt we have a choice in the matter,” answered Fingon as he reached out to boop Glorfindel on the nose with the tip of his finger.  “And I rather like it that way,” he added as he stood and pulled Glorfindel up from the couch so that they could follow after Erestor.


End file.
